


Forever Young

by havisham



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abandonment, Afterlife, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood Kink, Blow Jobs, Buried Alive, Character Turned Into Vampire, Consent Issues, Daddy Issues, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Drama & Romance, Family Secrets, Grief/Mourning, Human/Vampire Relationship, Immortality, Loss of Faith, M/M, Mortality, Murder, POV Alternating, Power Imbalance, Regret, Slow Burn, Temporary Character Death, Victorian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2020-09-28 05:41:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 45,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20420840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: Neil is dying of consumption. There is nothing he can do to stop the progress of the disease or to save himself -- or so he thinks, until a mysterious benefactor appears, to give him a new chance at life. A chance that may be too good to be true...A dying boy's wish is granted -- but at what cost?





	1. Waitin’ Around to Die

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone! I return from my August recess with this -- a little story about an urchin and his benefactor, who may or may not be a vampire. This is a WIP that I hope to update on a monthly basis until the story is completed. Please do subscribe for updates! 
> 
> Ratings and tags are subject to change as the story develops. 
> 
> Huge thanks to Nisiedraws, without whom this would not exist. Thank you to GlassesofJustice for betaing the first chapter. All remaining mistakes, etc.

When Neil woke from his long stupor, he saw that someone had stolen his boots.

He regretted the loss quite bitterly: the boots had been his father’s and Neil had only recently grown into them. To have them be stolen away in the dead of the night felt as if he had been pushed into an icy puddle, halfway to his waist. 

He thought of staying where he was and wallowing in his misfortune, but the bells began to ring at Saint Catherine's and he remembered that Father Bryce had told him that an unknown benefactor would be distributing alms to the poor in front of the church that night. Neil was determined to go, not just because he needed the help but because he had promised Mrs. Carew to bring something back for her as well. 

There was no helping it, then. Neil ripped strips from his already ragged blanket and wrapped them around his feet. When satisfied with his work, he left the freezing garret that was his home to walk towards Saint Catherine’s.

It had rained that night and the cobblestone streets were slick, but Neil moved slowly. He cut too poor and sickly a figure to attract too much attention of cutpurses, for his boots had been his last piece of wealth. When he reached Saint Catherine’s — a little jewel-like church, lovingly cut into the steep and perilous hill — the crowds had already disbursed. Only Father Bryce, looking bluff and cheerful, and a dark gentleman remained. 

Father Bryce caught sight of him first. “Why, it is young Neil Alston! Why did you come so late, my lad? All the alms have been given.” 

“I am sorry, Father. I have been ill and not attending to the time,” Nei said, coughing. The gentleman besides Father Bryce asked the priest a soft question that Neil couldn’t quite make out. 

Then the gentleman looked at Neil himself and Neil marveled at such a face — such refinement and beauty rarely found home in such a masculine frame. The only flaw in his features were his eyes, which were a grey so light to be almost colorless. They were unnatural eyes. 

The gentleman asked, with curiosity and a great deal of detachment, “What is your illness?”

“Consumption,” Neil said, his voice still ragged. “You need not come close. It is catching.”

“Some cases of it, yes.”

“Are you a medical man? If you give me five guineas now, I can promise you my corpse soon enough.”

“Neil, you are being unChristian,” Father Bryce said warningly.

“I’m sorry, Father Bryce,” Neil said with more meekness than he felt. The priest had always been kind to him, since the death of his mother, but he was naturally more concerned over the state of Neil’s Christianity than Neil ever was. 

“Mr. Delaney is a man of many talents, Neil. I would advise you not to be rude to him.”

Neil was about to make a sharp reply when his head spun and his vision grew dark. The last thing he saw was the gentleman — Mr. Delaney — reaching for him. 

How strangely strong he was, to catch him like that. As if all Neil’s bones and flesh weighted nothing more than a feather.

*

When Neil woke up again, he was in a bright, airy room that was a far cry from the attic garret that he made his home. How had he come to this place? He tried to sit up before he realized that he was now dressed in a clean nightshirt instead of his filthy street clothes. He wiggled his feet — unwrapped in any kind of rags at all. His whole body felt very, very clean — impossibly so. 

It seemed a pleasant dream. 

Neil fell asleep again, surrounded by the smell of lavender. He could not waste the bliss of being in such a seemingly safe and beautiful place. He had rarely slept so well. 

When he awoke again, it was evening, and someone had lit an oil lamp on the night stand beside him. He was still in the lovely room, and not in his garret that he shared with boot-thieves and all manner of other people.

“Have I died at last?” Neil cried aloud. “Though I didn’t expect Heaven to resemble a sickroom so closely.”

“You are not dead,” said a voice from the door. Neil saw Mr. Delaney there, with a man who was by all appearances a doctor.

“Dr. Winters, you see how ill young Alston was when you first treated him and how he is now?” said Lord Delaney. “He was completely insensible three days before he woke again.”

“Three days?” Neil said, incredulously. “Surely not.”

“I am afraid so, young man,” said Dr. Winters, who strode into the room with cheerful determination. But despite the doctor’s good mood, his prognosis was anything but cheering. He told Neil what Neil had long known — that the consumption had moved into his lungs and his time on this Earth was limited. 

Perhaps, if he were to go to a more pleasant climate, such as Italy or the south of France, the disease would slow, but —

“I have long known my life would be a short one,” Neil said. “It is only out of stubbornness that I have lived this long.”

“It is a sad thing to hear,” said Dr. Winters. “We have some palliative measures for you, at least.” He glanced over to Delaney. “Indeed, I have been working on a certain concoction that could -- help you. Please do not give in to despair.” 

Then the doctor checked his pocket watch and saw that he was late for his last appointment and bid farewell to them both. 

“Are you so resigned to your fate?” Delaney asked Neil as Dr. Winters had left. 

“Resigned?” Neil said, “say rather that I am infuriated. My life was not allowed to be anything and now it is to end.”

“You do not speak as a regular street urchin would, though I would have taken you for one when I first saw you.” Delaney leaned down and peered closer at Neil’s face. 

“If you think me educated, sir, you would be wrong, I don’t even know how to read.”

“That could be taught.”

“And who would teach me? My parents are dead and I have been too ill to support myself for far too long. My wits are dedicated to keeping me out of the workhouse.” 

“If I take you on as my ward, you may stay here and recover from your illness and improve yourself in ways you see fit.”

“But we know that I will not recover,” Neil said, relentless. 

“Then make your last days less miserable than they would be otherwise,” Delaney returned. 

“And what, sir, would you get out of such an arrangement?” Neil asked. He was sure that such a question would insult Delaney, as it would any reasonable man, but he was determined to ask.

If he was to sell himself, the least he could do was to ask for what price.

“I would not ask for any favors or impositions,” Delaney said. “I merely seek to be your benefactor.”

Neil considered this. “You know, I am one and twenty, though I am small and under-fed.”

“The paperwork will then be less complicated.” Delaney extended a strong brown hand. “Will you shake on it, Neil?”

Neil thought for a moment before he reached out and shook Delaney’s hand. It was cool against his own sweaty one. What contrast it made, his hand against Delaney’s — Neil’s face flushed at the thought of it. He did not quite know what the source of the disappointment he felt was, but it soon passed.

*

When Neil felt strong enough to leave his room, he immediately took it upon himself to familiarize himself with his new surroundings. He met the maid, Jenny, on his first day. She was a brown-haired young woman of perhaps twenty-three, and he was surprised to learn that she was not a local girl, but one who had been hired out from the countryside. She liked the city well enough, she told him, but once she had made enough money, she and her fiance would open a greengrocer’s together. 

Neil offered to help her polish the silver, and coincidentally, planned to pump her for more information about Delaney. However, Jenny was a clever woman and not willing to give out answers so easily -- she also caught him trying to slip a marrow spoon into his pocket. 

“I’ll have that back, sir,” she said firmly and he gave it back to her with an apologetic smile. After all, he didn’t really mean for her to get into trouble if the piece turned up missing.

“Although the master doesn’t really need such a thing,” Jenny said thoughtfully as she put the spoon back in its place. 

“Oh, he doesn’t suck the marrow out of things?” 

“I meant that he often dines at home, and doesn’t entertain very much.” 

“There is no Mrs. Delaney? Or at least, no prospects of one?” 

“Heavens. I have never met a batchelor more confirmed than the master. That's a good thing for me. You hear horror stories, you know. But he is a very disinterested gentleman.” 

Neil frowned. Delaney’s confirmed bachelorhood was not such a good thing for him as it was for Jenny, for all that his benefactor claimed that he had no ulterior motives for helping him. This simply could not be true. The world they lived in was not set up in such a way. 

After he left Jenny to her tasks, Neil continued to explore the house. There were many little trinkets here and there that he could pocket to sell outside, but the charm of the plan had gone. Instead, he observed closely the design and layout of the house -- a well-furnished and slightly old fashioned townhouse in a formerly fashionable part of town -- and how all the doors there seemed open to him -- save one. 

This door was to Delaney’s rooms. Delaney was not in -- he was never in during the day, and his days would start almost before dawn and stretch until the evening. In the afternoons, there seemed to be no one living there to challenge the deep silences that would overtake the house, except for the slight stirrings made by Jenny, the butler, Coombs, and now Neil himself. 

Everything seemed to be waiting for Delaney to return. And then, he would, in the dark of the evening, looking as fresh as a hothouse flower, and inquire about Neil’s health and ask if he had taken his medicine. 

“Yes, I’m feeling as well as can be expected,” Neil replied. He was, in fact, feeling better than he had for a long time. Dr. Winters’ concoction had dulled the pain somewhat, and combined with good food and fresh air, he felt more energetic than he had for a long time. The taste of the medicine was singly unpleasant, but he supposed everything else made up for it. 

“Then perhaps we can go to my tailor and see to getting clothes for you,” Delaney said. Neil shrugged. He had been wearing what he could only assume were Delaney’s own cast-offs, as they were all slightly too big for him but of excellent quality. 

He had been going around in bare shirtsleeves and loose trousers all throughout his recovery. Perhaps the impropriety of it had prompted this decision on the part of Delaney, which was understandable. 

“But would they be open at such hours?” he asked doubtfully. 

“For me, yes, though in the future I am sure they will see you in more regular times. Come along, Neil.” 

*

The tailor was a cramped little shop in between two fine ateliers, but it did not do to judge such places from looks alone. When Delaney knocked on the door, it opened a crack and a cautious looking man with a face like a pouched egg peered out. He recognized Delaney and said reproachfully, “Sir, you are late.” 

“A thousand apologies, Mr. Benson. I was unavoidably delayed. But may I introduce you to my new ward, Neil Alston?” 

“Er. Hello,” Neil said with a wave. 

Benson took them inside with a hurried plea to come in, come in. The shop itself was crowded, every available inch taken up with rolls of fabrics or clothes in progress of being made.

Neil walked in front of a full length mirror and was told to strip. After a moment’s hesitation, he did so. 

Delaney was saying, “He will need three shirts made up, a waistcoat or two, a cutaway coat and several trousers. Is there anything else you would like, Neil?” 

“No,” Neil replied. “Only … All these things would take such a long time to make -- surely it’s not worth it to make such clothes for me?” 

“Oh, I see that you are a modern man, Mr. Alston,” said Benson, taking out his measuring tape and approaching Neil. “I assure you, though those ready-made shirts you can buy in the shops nowadays are convenient and all, my wares will last you to your grave and back. That is the Benson family guarantee.” 

“A rather alarming one at that,” Neil said as Benson began to measure him. He tried not to wince. “Should fashion last as long as that?” 

“Some things always come back,” Delaney said encouragingly. Neil sighed and looked at the mirror. He could count on a single hand the times he had seen himself in a mirror, and never one of this size and splendor. He had heard that such mirrors were backed with silver, which made their breaking such bad fortune. 

He examined his reflection seriously. Neil could see parts of his parents in his adult frame in ways he had never done before. His mother had had golden hair, his was fairer than that. His father’s eyes had been a deep, dark blue — so was his. Neil smiled for a moment. He did not recognize that — for a smile was shared by everyone, he supposed. 

But one thing was sure — before, Neil had been so thin that his face had resembled a death’s head mask more than anything else, but now he was surprised to see that the last few months had put some character to his features. 

“You know, I am quite beautiful,” he said aloud, surprised. He looked to see if Delaney would agree, but Delaney was nowhere to be seen. Benson was busy with measuring him and didn’t comment on his observation.

“It is not quite the thing to say you are beautiful, you know,” said Delaney, suddenly. He came up and touched Neil’s shoulder, attracting his attention. His skin was cool, as always. 

“Even if it is true?” 

“_Especially_ if it is true,” Delaney said. He dropped his gaze for a moment. Neil followed his gaze and blushed. Delaney caught his look and smiled. “Ah, I believe Mr. Benson is completed.” 

“Should we select the fabrics, gentlemen?” said Benson. 

Neil dressed as Delaney chose the material for his waistcoats, coats, and trousers. His opinion was wanted for the colors and patterns, but Neil deferred to Delaney on both accounts, as it was obvious that his benefactor had stronger opinions on such things than he did. 

It was only coming back to the house, as Neil caught his reflection on the plate glass of a shop window that he wondered the strange trick of the mirror. He had looked through the mirror at Benson’s shop and he had not seen Delaney, though he knew that his benefactor had been behind him all the time. And in Delaney’s house, though well-appointed and fashionable, there was not a single mirror hung on any wall. 

*

Delaney hired a tutor for Neil’s studies, a university student and radical, by the name of Euston. Euston had informed Neil on their first meeting that he would teach Neil anything anything he, Euston, was capable of teaching, for he believed in the unshackling of the proletariat.

“How do you know Mr. Delaney?” Neil asked Euston, taking immediate advantage of his tutor’s generous offer of knowledge.

“Oh, my father knew him in university. When he heard that I had need of some employment, he offered it.”

“He knew your father … but you are almost my age. I cannot believe Delaney is old enough to have a grown up son!” Although, Neil thought suddenly, he had no idea how old Delaney actually was. Surely, not so old. He had not a single wrinkle on his face, nor grey hair on his head. But sometimes he sounded quite old indeed… 

“There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy, Horatio.” Euston paused at Neil’s annoyed look. “Perhaps we won’t be covering Shakespeare in our lessons yet but what I mean is that is pointless to try to explain the mysteries of Edward Delaney. My father has never succeeded though he has twenty years head’s start.”

Despite his propensity to quote Shakespeare at appropriate and some inappropriate situations, Euston proved to be competent tutor. By their first month of lessons, Neil could read far more than he ever could before, though he still failed to see the point of Shakespeare.

“No, no, the point of Shakespeare is not to read the script, which is dull, but to see it performed. Indeed, there is a performance of _Much Ado About Nothing _this evening at the Historia that I was planning to go to — you should come with me.”

“I couldn’t possibly,” said Neil. “I’ve never been to a play. People like me don’t see plays.”

“People from all walks of life saw Shakespeare’s plays. They were the music hall shows of their day.”

“That may be so, but things have changed since then. They don’t have boys pretending to be girls pretending to be boys, do they?”

“So you were paying attention to that!” said Euston, delighted. 

“Does _Much Ado About Nothing _have boys dressed as girls dressed as boys?”

“Alas, no. In this day and age, such complications are not needed. And yet, it is to our advantage, for without, we would be deprived of the talents of many great actresses.”

“John, may I ask you something?”

“Of course! May I say I am delighted you agreed to call me John? What is it?”

“I only do it because you wouldn’t respond to Euston. Well. If Shakespeare is your first love, then why don’t you teach his works? What’s this about fomenting revolutions?”

“I say, one can do both,” said Euston indignantly. Somewhere down the hall, a clock chimed two o’clock. He sprang up from his chair. “Oh now I must get tickets! I’ll come by at six to pick you up? I’m sure Delaney will want you to go.”

The last sentence was an attempt to answer a question that lingered on Neil’s lips. He didn’t think his benefactor would directly forbid him to go — but it would mark the first time since their meeting that Neil had not spent an evening together with him. 

But how unbearable he would sound if he said so! 

“I look forward to it,” said Neil. The rest of their conversation was put on hold by a knock on the door. It was Jenny coming in with Neil’s evening medicine. Neil winced in dislike when she poured out a spoonful the dark, red liquor for him. The taste of it was awful, redolent of iron and dead things, but immediately afterwards, along with a draught of mineral water, Neil felt better than he had done in so long. 

Euston watched him avidly. “What is this medicine you’re taking?” 

“It is a special concoction of Dr. Winter’s,” Neil said. “Delaney puts great store in it. I can speak for its efficacy. I have been coughing much less since I started taking it, but Lord does it taste awful!” 

“May I try it?” said Euston. 

“I would not advise it,” said a voice from the door. It was Delaney, of course. He approved of the plan of going to see a play, though he said that Neil would have to borrow a suit from Euston, as his own were not ready yet, and Delaney’s own would not fit him, being far too large for him. 

“You don’t mind me going out?” Neil asked him. 

“Of course not,” Delaney told him. “You’re not a prisoner here. You may go out and about whenever you like.” 

“I know that,” Neil replied. “I only thought -- you spend evenings here with me. It’s a pity not to do that -- perhaps … You could come with us?” 

Something flared in Delaney’s eyes, usually so calm and placid. He shook his head. “No. I do not like such crowded places as theaters. So full of people and their -- breathing. It is too unpleasantly close for me. But I hope you and young Euston will enjoy yourself.” 

With that unusual announcement, Delaney quit the room. 

*

The next night, Neil was seated next to Euston in his family’s theater box, watching the play with only a half-a-mind to what was happening. He had liked the part when Beatrice talked about eating Claudio’s heart in the marketplace, but still, when he would look over the audience, everything seemed odd to him. There was a strange throbbing in everything he looked at. The dark-haired beauty who eyed him from the box over seemed to lean over, the veins on her delicate neck seemed to stand out in startling ways. 

_How sweet her blood would taste -- _

Neil stood up abruptly. Euston frowned. 

“Neil? What’s wrong? Are you feeling poorly?” 

“No,” Neil said. “Don’t get up -- I’m just going to take a little walk, I’ll be back before intermission.” 

“Are you sure? I don’t mind going with you,” said Euston. 

“It’s fine,” Neil replied. He had to get out of here. Everything -- from his borrowed suit to his skin felt too tight for him. He didn’t know what was happening, but he wished it would end. He walked without hardly knowing where he was going, outside of the theater itself, and into the busy street outside of it. 

It was already late autumn, the evenings were getting cold. Already the streets had a light dusting of snow upon them, though that soon disappeared under the trampling of many boots. Neil shivered. He had left his coat and hat in the box with Euston -- clearly, he had taken a departure from his senses. At least he had kept his ticket stub, he could still go inside. He was going back inside when he heard the sudden, sharp cry of a child crying. 

Across the way from him, he saw a group of well-dressed but brawny youths, some no older than fifteen, gathered around a child, dressed in rags. The youths were playing keep away with something of the child’s -- upon closer inspection, Neil saw it was a crutch. For a moment, he only watched, outraged. Then, he sprang into action. 

He hit the crowd of boys with his fists raised. Neil had grown up fighting, before he had gotten too sick to do so. He knew how to do it, at least. And besides, he was stronger now than he had ever been before. Why was that? _Rip! _Someone had grabbed his arm and torn loose a seam from Euston’s jacket. What a pity. He would have to pay for that. Neil cracked the head of one of the bigger boys with the crutch, and its owner cried out, “Careful, sir! Do not break it!” 

“Oh, sorry, you’re right,” Neil said, handing the crutch over to its rightful owner. Then, he bit the boy’s neck. The boy screamed, high and frightened, and struggled out of Neil’s grip and ran away. 

“Mad man! He’s a mad man!” they shouted at Neil, who watched them indifferently, as the crowd of theater-goers swallowed them up. Soon, only the boy with the crutch remained. He seemed remarkably undisturbed by Neil’s antics, though he was pleased by the gold sovereign that Neil gave him. 

“You’ve got blood on your face, sir,” he told Neil politely. Neil wiped his mouth with the back of his hand absently. 

“So I have,” Neil said. “Are you alright? Do you need anything?” 

“I’ll be alright. Thank you for the coin. Mama will be pleased.” 

Neil patted the top of his head and walked off. He couldn’t go back into the theater now, he decided. His suit was ripped, his hair tousled and there was blood and marks upon his face. Euston would wonder what had become of him, but it could not be helped. Feeling rather downtrodden, Neil followed the crowd towards a row of taverns and pubs, but stopped when he felt a familiar hand on his shoulder. 

He looked up to see Delaney at his side. “Why sir!” said Neil, astonished. “I thought you disliked the theater.” 

“I ardently do dislike the theater,” said Delaney. “But I am not averse to heroic scenes outside them.” He took out a handkerchief and wiped away some streaks of soot from Neil’s face. 

They held each other’s gaze. Neil looked down for a moment and said, quietly, “Sir, do you think I am truly going mad?” 

“Neil! Why ever would you think so?” 

“Lately, my thoughts have been preoccupied -- strangely preoccupied. I keep wondering what blood would taste like. I cannot explain where this thought comes from or why. Also, I bit a man just now. I don’t know why. I just did it.” 

“Blood, you say?” Delaney leaned very close to Neil, so close that his hair, usually loosely tied back, blew into Neil’s face. Then, so quickly that Neil half-wondered if he imagined it, Delaney licked some of the blood that dripped down on Neil’s chin. For a moment, his pale eyes grew dark and satisfied. 

Neil felt a little faint. If Euston hadn’t come upon them at that moment, he wasn’t sure what would have happened. Something odd, certainly. 

Euston took the destruction of his suit with good cheer, refusing compensation for it. Instead, they went to Delaney’s club to have dinner -- or at least, Neil and Euston did. 

Delaney only took wine, as usual. 

“I wish you had stayed for the rest of the play, Neil,” said Euston earnestly. “I wanted to introduce you to Mr. Irving -- he played Benedick tonight -- and his manager, Mr. Stroker.” 

“Another time, perhaps,” Delaney said pleasantly. 

*

It had been raining steadily when Neil left the house, dressed in his new suit. He looked for all the world like a gentleman, but he did not feel like one. As he made his way to the part of the city where he had grown up, he looked around and wondered if any of the people who passed him by recognized him. Some looked at him intently, but no one greeted him by name. He was a stranger in a place where he had spent the first twenty years of his life. 

When he made his way to the little bedsit where Mrs. Carew lived, he was half-afraid that he would find it empty. The old lady had been in such bad health when he had seen her last and he had all but abandoned her for months after. The basket he had brought with him, filled with food and spirits, as well as the envelope of banknotes he had tucked in his pocket, was hardly enough to make up for such neglect. 

But at his second knock, he heard Mrs. Carew’s voice say, “Miranda? Is that you, dear?” 

“It’s me, Mrs. Carew. Neil Alston. May I come in?”

“Neil! Why, of course, dear!” 

Inside, the room was redolent with dust and the smell of sickness. Miranda, Mrs. Carew’s daughter, worked as a maid-of-all-work for a doctor’s family on the other side of the city. She could not visit her mother except on certain Sundays, and as a result, Mrs. Carew was often very lonely indeed. Neil remembered many years he had spent in the old woman’s company, while his mother worked herself to bone after his father had abandoned them. 

They settled themselves in front of the fire to talk and Mrs. Carew made many exclamations over Neil’s health and improved conditions. “I didn’t recognize you, my dear boy. You look like such a gentleman now, nothing like the boy I knew. What good fortune has visited you?” 

“I have found a benefactor, Mrs. Carew, who wishes to educate and improve me,” said Neil. “But I did not want to you to fear that I had perished.” 

“Oh, bless you, my child. When Father Bryce told me you hadn’t come to church on Sunday, I feared the worst for you. I suppose where you live now is too far from St. Catherine’s?” 

Neil shifted uncomfortably. In truth, he had not thought of going to church ever since the day he met Delaney. Was this an indication he had abandoned all hope for Heaven now that he had found comfort on Earth? Was his faith really so shallow as that? 

“I’ve been looking for a new place, Mrs. Carew, but have not found one. But my benefactor, Mr. Delaney, is a great supporter of the church, I believe.” 

“Indeed?” Mrs. Carew looked troubled. “Father Bryce told me that he was steadily giving support to St. Catherine’s for years, but after taking you as his ward, his support has almost completely stopped.” 

“Perhaps then I am too expensive,” Neil said, worriedly. “The doctor, the upkeep, all of the expense of it… I did not even consider. How selfish I have been to keep living and drawing away support from people who really need it!” 

“Oh no, do not think like that!” said Mrs. Carew, alarmed. She got up painfully and seemed to be looking for something. When Neil offered to help, she refused him, and instead asked him to make some of the tea and cut the seeded cake he had brought with him. 

When he had finished making the tea, Mrs. Carew had come back from her quest with a small packet, wrapped tightly in oilskins. Carefully, she gave it over to Neil. “Your mother gave this to me before she died. Told me to look over it until you came of age. I should’ve given it to you sooner, but you were so ill -- I was afraid I wouldn’t have the chance.” 

Neil pressed the packet against his heart and thanked Mrs. Carew for keeping his papers safe. He saw that the afternoon was growing late, and he would need to return home soon, and so, begging the good lady’s pardon, he bid her goodbye. She wept at that, as if she felt that it would be the last time they would see each other again. Neil did not gainsay her -- he thought she was right. 

Outside, the sun had made a surprising appearance. It blazed down on to the rain-soaked street and made puddles steam unpleasantly. Neil felt uncomfortable as he made his way towards St. Catherine’s, to see if he could see Father Bryce and apologize for his truancy. 

But oh! How did the sun burn him so? This did not feel natural, for all that he was a pale Englishman. He looked up and saw a corona around the sun, like a bloody collar, and his head swam and his eyes began to bleed. He ran up the steps to the church, his heels slipping on the wet stone. 

The church was empty save for a few parishioners, who were shocked by his appearance -- though they tried to hide it. Father Bryce, he was told, had been called away -- Widow Pope was said to be dying. If he liked, he could stay and wait for him? 

Neil did not feel like waiting, but he also did not feel like going back while the sun still blazed above him. Instead, he sat on a stone pew, as he had done many times since he was a child, and tried to make sense of what was happening to him. 

He was ill, he knew, but it was not of consumption. He had never heard of consumption making someone crave the taste of blood, or fear the light of the sun. For the first time since Neil had come into the church, so long ago it seemed now, he felt the first creepings of fear. He had always feared death, always and forever. But -- could there be something to fear besides death? Something beyond its grasp? Some transformation, unexpected, unholy -- 

“Neil, I thought I would find you here.” 

Neil opened his eyes and found Delaney standing in front of him. 

“You always know where to find me,” Neil mused aloud. “How do you do that?” 

“Is it something you truly want to know?” Delaney asked him, taking a seat beside him. He took out a cloth and moved to wipe away the blood from Neil’s face, but Neil took it out of his hands firmly. 

He wiped his face clean and said,“What is happening to me? Please tell me, sir. I have a feeling you know exactly.” 

“When we met, you told me that you would do what you needed to survive. That you resented that you were doomed to die. Neil, did you mean that? Was immortality really the thing you sought?” 

“I did not think it was something on offer,” Neil said. He looked ahead to the altar, and above it, to the round stained glass window that glowed in the soft evening light. He frowned and looked at Delaney. “You are early tonight. I don’t usually see you until it is quite dark.” 

“I hurried, just a little.” Delaney delicately removed a leaf that had somehow stuck itself into his hair. He managed to look unconcerned when Neil looked at him more minutely. 

“You are a creature of the night,” Neil said slowly. “I have never seen you in the daylight. I have never seen your reflection in a mirror. I am surprised to see you in this church. You are unnaturally excited by the presence of blood. You are --” 

Delaney pressed a cold finger upon Neil’s mouth. He smiled. “No, Neil. _We are._” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Notes:**
> 
> \- Neil offering to pre-sell his corpse to a doctor (he supposes) -- which is, I think, probably one of the darker jokes I've ever written -- is a reference to the very common practice of body snatching, the most famous example of which would be Burke and Hare.
> 
> \- You might be wondering -- what the fuck is a marrow spoon? [Let Martha show you](https://www.marthastewart.com/916502/how-use-18th-century-marrow-spoons).
> 
> \- The connection between vampirism, tuberculosis, and a disgusting tonic that someone has to drink is all inspired by the infamous [Mercy Brown vampire incident of New England.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mercy_Brown_vampire_incident)
> 
> \- Let's contemplate some [Victorian neckties](https://havisham.tumblr.com/post/187132767945/vintage-victorian-mens-neck-ties). Of course, white is for Neil, because he's an ingénu, red is Delaney because he's predictable. Gold, hmm, future character you haven't met yet, Grey... Well, Dorian Gray, I suppose. Imagine how _annoyed_ Dorian Gray would be if he existed in the same universe as vampires. It could have been so easy!!
> 
> **Listen:**  
[Waitin’ Around to Die - Townes Van Zandt](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l4zfEkKs2ZM)
> 
> [Cold, Cold Ground - Tom Waits](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iImgNGcceLM)
> 
> [Spooky - Dusty Springfield](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f7QzxYAjgNc)
> 
> [Forever Young - Iron & Wine and Rhiannon Gidden](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KHMlZxG339Y)
> 
> [The Way It Goes - Gillian Welch](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AiS37_EULj8)


	2. The Ground Don't Want Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil and Delaney's Totally Bogus Journey, abridged.

It _was _night now, he could feel it. The darkness outside corresponded exactly to the darkness inside his own soul. Perhaps, in another time, Neil would have scoffed at such a dramatic pronouncement, but now he thought it was correct. He looked at Delaney in horror and in apprehension, but not in disbelief. Neil knew he was simply not the same man he had been only a few months ago. 

He spoke in a hushed whisper, though they were now alone in the shadowed church, “Am I truly a creature of evil now, a dead thing like you?”

“Should I take offense, that you call me a creature of evil,” Delaney said, “when I have been nothing but good to you?” 

“You have made me drink your blood unknowingly. And unwillingly!” 

“That blood has saved you from the oblivion of death. And if you wish to completely avoid it, you will complete the process thus: kill a person that you love and drain them of their heart’s blood. Then and only then would you become a true vampire. Until then, you will be this half-vampire as you are now, half-in the land of the living and in the land of the dead, belonging to neither. That is no life, and that no death either.”

Delaney looked at him, his eyes intense and probing. “Do not hesitate on your decision. If you choose not to live, tell me so and I can provide you will a quick and clean death, a far better one than you were suffering.” 

Neil thought of Mrs. Carew sitting patiently in the dark, waiting for her daughter to come home. He tried to steel himself against the thought of harming her in any way. It was impossible. He would not allow it. Keeping his voice as steady as possible, he said, “Sadly, I have no one like that, I’m afraid. I’m an orphan. And I have no lover or friend in the world. There is no one who would weep for me when I die.”

“I would volunteer, but I have not wept for anyone in centuries. But still, I find you choice of shelter telling.” As Delaney spoke, they heard a step behind them. Father Bryce approached them, pleased at their sudden appearance. The lantern he held in his hand was the only source of light around them -- it was a paltry thing in the persistent gloom, but even so, Neil felt the need to pull away from it. He did not feel as though he deserved to be illuminated. 

“Mr. Delaney! Neil! What a pleasant surprise! What are you two doing here so late in the evening? Why, Neil, you look—”

“Neil,” Delaney said gently. “Your fate is in your hands. Take it.”

Neil said quietly, “Why are you doing this to me? I thought you were a kind man!”

“This is an act of kindness. Would you rather have died?” 

“Yes!” 

“You do not know what you say,” Delaney said coldly. He looked up at Father Bryce, who seemed bewildered at their whispered conversation. Loudly, he said, “Father Bryce, Neil is having a crisis of faith. I fear that he might take his own life. I have brought him here because I know how much he values your council. Could you help him?” 

“Good Lord. What has happened to him? Even at his sickest, I did not think Neil would turn aside from God!” 

The priest approached Neil and put a hand on his shoulder. It was a terrible mistake. 

Father Bryce was in all ways an average, fattish man of forty-two. He had no great secrets nor did he have any great sins. He protected the people of his parish the best he could, but in most part, he was forgetful and lazy. He was human and he did not deserve to die in the way that he did -- but very few, if any people do. Later, Neil described what he felt as some great release, as if some great wind had blown open a door. He looked up and he did not see Father Bryce as Father Bryce, his somewhat ineffectual spiritual guide or whatever. He saw a body that was full of warm and nourishing blood, blood that could and should be his, his by right, if he could take it.

And he could. And he did. It was very easy -- he was far stronger than Father Bryce had ever been. The priest’s throat tore like it was made of nothing at all, and Neil drank the blood that gushed from gladly, weeping and apologizing incoherently all the while. 

Delaney held back for most of the murder, only intervening to hold back Neil’s hair and to scold him, saying, “You’re wasting his sacrifice with your hysterics. Compose yourself.” 

If Neil could push himself away, he would have. If he could do anything else besides crouch besides Father Bryce’s body and sup on on his blood until it was completely drained, he would. But he could do nothing else. He felt nothing, not even resentment at Delaney’s words. His body seemed to work on its own volition. It drank until it could not hold anymore. Once satisfied, Delaney picked him up as if he weighed nothing and carried him off, wiping off the blood from Neil’s face with a fond sigh. 

Neil cast a backward glance at the grisly scene behind them. “What’s going to happen now? Will the police not come after us?”

“You don’t have to concern yourself with that at present. The trail will go cold — now.” 

“Impossible!” 

“Child. Do you think this is the first sort of murder of this kind this city has ever seen?” 

Neil felt ill. He thought that the blood he had been so eager to drink would taste horrible, but it had not. Instead, the taste of it lingered on his tongue as something savory and wonderful -- like calf head’s broth but thicker and more primordial. 

Outside, the sun was barely rising in the east. They rushed out to the carriage that was waiting at the end of the steps for them. As carefully as a child — or an invalid — Delaney helped Neil into carriage and wrapped him in a blanket and told him to rest. Neil pulled away from him and Delanay took the seat opposite his. It was not a comfortable ride in the least. The carriage completely sealed up — not a single ray of sunshine was allowed inside.

It seemed impossible that he would never see the sun again. He pressed his hand against the sealed window with desperate longing. Delaney reached out and drew his hand away.

“I have not seen the light of the sun in two thousand years,” he said with a slight smile. “It is too early for you to miss it now. Give it a century or so more!” 

“You still have not told me why you did this to me. Surely there are people dying every day in this city who you could have -- helped in this way. Those who would not have minded your methods, perhaps.” 

“You minded so much?” 

“You made me kill a man who has always been kind to me.” 

“And yet he did not hesitate to put you into my path.” 

“He did not know what you were.” 

“True. He merely thought I was a strange man who wanted a dying boy for purposes of my own and was willing to provide me with such a boy.” 

“I cannot answer for that. I am not him,” Neil said, as the carriage hit some rock on the road and jostled violently. “We are not going to the house?” 

“No,” Delaney said. “I thought you would like some time away. ” He smiled as a sudden way of fatigue hit Neil right between his eyes. Neil slumped in his seat. Delaney immediately seated himself beside him and pressed a kiss on Neil’s forehead. 

“Yes. You must sleep soon. For three days or weeks or months. It doesn’t matter. Rest for as long as you wish for, my dear boy.” 

“However long, it won’t make it right,” Neil muttered, half to himself. 

“Of course not,” Delaney agreed. “It never will.”

Despite Delaney’s exhortation to sleep, Neil could not quite rest. Delaney seemed to understand it as well. He grew more and more affectionate towards Neil as the miles in their journey grew, not pausing except when the coachmen changed. When they did, Delaney would go out, but Neil stayed where he was.

He was hungry again. His hunger seemed to move across his body and his mind like a wild animal in search of prey. The coach wasn’t moving and he wondered if it was locked. Could he not leave and find a meal? But then he thought of Father Bryce’s dead white face, forever fixed in an expression of pained surprise and shuddered. Would his hunger only be appeased by _that? _

The carriage door opened and Delaney entered. They were on their way again, making good time towards their destination— wherever that was. “We only have a few more hours to go. The only delay is waiting until sunset, really.” 

“I’m hungry,” Neil said petulantly. “Father Bryce was days ago. I think.” Time had stopped meaning much to him, in the starts and stops of the carriage ride, and Delaney’s absences from it. Neil would stay where he was. He had no desire to go elsewhere. What was there to see, anyway? The world to him seemed to be a horror. 

“How soon the young forget,” Delaney lamented, and threw a wineskin at him. Neil caught it easily enough — it was unwholesomely warm and wet feeling. He did not think it contained wine. Delaney’s next words confirmed his suspicions.

“I had a devil of a time filling it. He kept screaming so. I thought help would come for him in the end. So do drink up, fledgling, and be grateful.”

“Please don’t call me that.” 

“I won’t if it ruffles your feathers so.” 

Neil opened the wineskin and took a swallow of blood. The man Delaney had killed must have been younger and tougher than Father Bryce had been. His blood tasted sweeter — it had a more narcotic tang to it. After a first few tastes, Neil leaned against the seat and sighed. “Why does it taste so good? Blood is vile. But I cannot have enough of it.”

“It is necessary for your continued existence; of course you desire it.” Delaney leaned close to him and kissed him. It was a strange kiss -- almost offhand and insincere. When Delaney pulled away, he winched. “You will learn, dear Neil, the worst taste in the world is the taste of cold blood. You would do anything in the world to avoid it.” 

“When you -- do you always kill them when you feed?” 

“No,” Delaney said quickly. “Not always. I mean, for one such as you, yes, I suppose it would be fatal. But once you have practice, I would say you could spare almost everyone you feed from. As long as you aren’t greedy -- as long as they don’t fight to remember who you are. That’s the danger most of all, you know, in letting them live. You’re showing them an unbelievable thing and then letting them go into this world with that knowledge.” 

He paused. “Of course, there are ways to make them forget all about you. Which I suppose we could have done to Father Bryce if you hadn’t ripped out that poor man’s throat.”

At Neil’s horrified look, Delaney laughed. “Oh, don’t be so glum. He had to die. He was your last link to your human life. You severed that link and now you can be more than human.” 

“So those things you said about killing someone who loved me, being a half-vampire … Was that a lie?” 

“Not as such. You’re such a special case, Neil. In truth, you’ve been half-dead since I’ve met you. It’s only my blood that’s kept you moving and speaking this entire time. But it was running out and you did so insist on going out into the sun. Once we get you buried in the mausoleum for some time, you will be able to rise and be a real vampire. Then Samuel will be able to tutor you on how to hunt properly. It’s all for the best, you know.” 

“Who’s Samuel?” 

Delaney tapped on his chin thoughtfully. “You’ll see soon enough.” 

“I hate that about you -- always keeping secrets.” 

“Have you earned the right to my secrets, my dear?” Delaney’s eyes were sharp. “You’re very adorable and endearing, but we hardly know each other, after all.”

“Hardly know each other?” Neil echoed, aghast. “How could you say that with a straight face?”

“How else would I say so?” 

“Haha, you are a wit. What a delight. Perhaps you should have considered what relative strangers we were before you turned me into a damned vampire— now you’re stuck with me forever!” 

“Samuel is going to love you,” Delaney said morosely. “He said almost the same thing to me, before.” 

“You’ve done this before?” 

Delaney ignored him. The answer seemed very clear indeed.

*

The carriage had finally stopped moving. Neil, if he paid attention, could hear the faint roar of the ocean somewhere beyond the thin walls of the carriage. He shook Delaney to awareness — it would not be fair to say Delaney was sleeping, but rather, he seemed to have folded into himself, his eyes open and staring into nothing. It was one of the more unnerving things that Neil had ever seen. No one needed to see the complete absence of life in the face of the still ostensibly living. 

Delaney stretched out and sighed. “We’re here, then? Neil, I’ve brought you to the very end of the world in order so that you can learn to be a vampire and the person who will teach you is —“

The carriage door shuddered and a slim white hand stole in and flung it open. A young man with vivid red hair and a narrow, vulpine face and tilted, hazel eyes stared at them for a moment with naked disdain. “Father. You’ve made another brother for me, despite your earlier promises.”

“Not _for_ you, Samuel,” Dalaney said reprovingly. “Far from it.” 

“Of course, I know that. Not for me,” said Samuel. His eyes raked Neil up and down. He was angry, that was obvious, but it was also quite obvious that his anger was directed at Delaney himself. Only a month or two ago, at the height of his naivete, Neil would have thought such anger would have been impossible. Delaney was surely a saintly man. 

Neil knew much better now. 

“Samuel, he really --?” Neil ventured to ask. 

“No,” Delaney said. “It amuses Samuel to call me Father because he knows I dislike it. I am his sire as I am yours, but it is not exactly a paternal relationship, as you no doubt understand.” 

“No doubt,” Samuel drawled. “Well, will not you not introduce me to this dewy young ingenu you’ve killed then, Edward?” 

They came out of the carriage and Neil found that they had come to stop in front of a manor house in a ruinous state. It had been a grand place, at one time, centuries ago. But now, ivy had overrun the gates and rain had blackened the stones. It was a haunted place. A cursed place. 

“Don’t look at my home so meanly,” said Samuel with an offended sniff. “I’m sure you are no landed gentleman yourself. According to Delaney’s letters, you have no property to speak of.” 

“You’re right, sir,” said Neil as calmly as he could. “I’m nothing but a beggar. I don’t know why Mr. Delaney has brought me here, except that he seems to think that you would be able to help with my -- interesting condition.” 

“He thought I could help you not immediately get killed -- you know how it is,” Samuel said with an arrogant shake of his bright head. He fixed on Neil a toothy smile. “I am, you know, very good at it. Better than Delaney, who loathes to get his lovely hands dirty. He hates teaching anyone -- truly, he expects everyone to be born knowing everything.”

“What an impossible person,” Neil muttered. He refused to clarify whether he meant Samuel or Delaney -- in fact, he meant both. 

“Well,” Delaney said after a small pause. He graced them with a very lovely smile. “You have very lovely and capable hands, Samuel. And because of that, I’m leaving Neil to you -- for a short time, until I can finish some business. He’ll need some time to rest and recover. I do hope you get to train him a little, but if you don’t, I’ll understand and won’t hold it against you.” 

“You’re truly despicable,” Samuel said, his voice soft. “I had hoped all these years would have changed you, but --” 

“In some ways, Neil is your brother,” Delaney said, as if he hadn’t spoken. “You have some responsibility towards him. So, don’t stake him if you can help it.” 

“Please don’t do this,” Neil said. He was trying to remain as calm as possible. He knew that his behavior in the last few days had been irresponsible -- Father Bryce’s death had driven him over the brink of acceptable behavior, and now he was being punished. But to be abandoned to the mercies of a hostile stranger -- now, with abilities he had no idea how to control -- it was too cruel, even for his erstwhile benefactor. “I promise to better behaved in the future.” 

“It is not about your behavior. In truth, there was nothing you could have said or done that could have appalled me. Neil, this is not a punishment. I truly must go.” Delaney reached down and pressed a cold kiss on Neil’s forehead. “I am not abandoning you.” 

“You are,” Neil said. “I will never need you more than I do now.” 

And still Delaney could not be swayed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from [Josh Ritter](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4qXEf-lqTrw&t=272s). If you wanna talk some Josh Ritter with me, I'm ready and willing, babe. 
> 
> \- Delaney is a classic Victorian dad in that he doesn't want to actually raise anyone. Bye. 
> 
> \- Will the next chapter be more of Neil's undead life falling apart or will something nice happen to him instead? Well, check in next month (HALLOWEEN!!!) to see.


	3. The Rake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil learns more about what it means to be a vampire, explores a haunted manor, and participates in a murder.
> 
> Content Note: Brief mention of eye violence.

A sudden wind whipped up from the coast and brought with it the smell of salt and the decaying seaweed. Neil turned away from both Samuel and Delaney, who were deep into consultation, and instead turned his attention to the house. It had been a grand place, he saw, but only the central wing seemed still to be in use -- the east and west wings both had boarded up windows. 

Parts seemed almost in ruins. Did anyone live here besides Samuel? Neil peered closer to one of the windows and thought he saw a pale white face looking back at him, but a closer look proved him wrong. How old was this place? He glanced over at Samuel. How old was _Samuel? _

As if sensing his curiosity, Samuel looked over at him and frowned at him. “We are discussing your room and board here at Flintheart Manor, sir. Do you care to contribute to it?” 

“I don’t have any money to speak of,” Neil said, though he left off saying that he thought the place was aptly named. 

“You don’t seem ashamed of your poverty at all.” 

“I suppose my shame died with me,” Neil replied. This was a lie, but Samuel didn’t need to know that, though the other man smirked as if he already knew. 

“I’ve told you that you can charge whatever you like to me, Sam,” Delaney said, a little annoyed. 

“I told you never to call me Sam,” Samuel said. “Are you going to stay the night or not? You might pretend that the hounds of hell are after you, but the council doesn’t move that fast. And you’ve done what you’ve liked for this long.” 

“I don’t care for my sake, as you well know. But Neil is young and untried. And you -- you have much to lose. It is better if I go and marshal my forces, as it were. Really, it won’t take long. Only a few weeks at most.” 

He paused for a moment before he reached back and handed a packet of papers to Neil. “I believe this is yours, dear Neil.” 

“Oh yes,” Neil said, clutching at them. “They are. Thank you.”

Delaney departed with the coach with a few soft words of good wishes and hopes of future meetings -- “Do not doubt me, Neil!” he had said, as if that was possible not to do. 

Neil watched as his coach went down the road until it was no longer visible through the twists of the roads and the dark shapes of the trees. 

“Come on then,” Samuel said sharply. “Don’t stand there mooning like a lovestruck maiden. We’ve only a few hours until sunrise. Let me give you the tour.” 

“I don’t want a tour,” Neil said, his voice a mere whisper. He looked up at the sky and saw that the moon, now only a thin sickle of light against the black sky, had been hidden against the grey clouds. “Please, could you let me rest? I’ve had a long journey and Mr. Delaney did say that I could sleep.” 

Samuel paused and looked at him. Really looked at him for what seemed like the first time. “Have you not slept at all? I thought Delaney turned you months ago.” 

“No. He started giving me his blood -- I suppose it was months ago, but it wasn’t -- I don’t know, it isn’t clear to me what I am, even now.” 

“You’re a vampire,” Samuel said flatly. “How more clear do you need it to be? Delaney is old enough that he can skirt most of the rules when he made you, but what you are can’t be changed.” 

“I’m so tired -- I need to rest.” Neil’s vision swam. He didn’t know if it his hunger or his distress that caused it, or a combination of the two, but he could not seem to keep upright. 

Samuel sighed. “As much as it would pain me to keep you in the same crypt where my wife and ancestors sleep, I suppose I have no choice, unless …” 

Neil didn’t hear the rest of his sentence, as he crumpled to the ground. 

*

When Neil woke up, he was in a dark and quiet place. It did not seem to matter if he kept his eyes open or closed, his senses didn’t waver. There was a steady drip of water falling somewhere, wearing against stone. The smell of death lingered, but it was an old smell, hardly remarkable. 

Neil was in a tomb, and he had been sleeping there quite comfortably. He wondered how long he had rested. A day? A week? A century? He closed his eyes again, the pull of sleep calling to him again. Perhaps, the next time he would awaken, Delaney would have returned for him. 

Delaney who would then be disappointed to learn that Neil had learned nothing from Samuel at all, not even Samuel’s family name. Which Neil could easily learn _now_, without Samuel even being present… 

With a groan, Neil roused himself and pushed away the cover of the tomb and climbed out. He had been resting in a white marble tomb that was a part of a larger mausoleum -- to his intense relief, there was no name carved on his tomb at all. It seemed like a fresh one -- perhaps its intended occupant still lived? However, it was clearly a family mausoleum -- the surname of Rivers was engraved on lintel above the door, carved on the tombs all around him. 

Finally, Neil found the tomb he was looking for -- Samuel Jonathan Rivers, July 29th, 1769 - Beloved Husband & Father. 

“Lord, what did Delaney do here?” Neil muttered to himself. Seducing a married man away, how scandalous. The mausoleum had small windows that looked out into the graveyard -- from a glance, Neil saw that it was now dusk. He left the Rivers tomb behind him with a sigh, wondering what he should do now. 

“You, young man, what are you doing there?” said a querulous voice as soon as he had closed the gate behind him. Neil glanced around until he spotted an old woman, dressed in black, staring at him from across the churchyard. She sat very straight and her hair was very white. And her voice was very carrying, though she had not spoken particularly loudly. 

“Madame, I am a student interested in old tombs and I thought this one was … special …?” 

“Don’t lie. You’re one of Samuel’s friends, aren’t you? He mentioned one of them might be stopping by, but didn’t mention when. The young are so inconsiderate. Well? Come and help me up.” She held out her hand imperiously. Neil crossed the churchyard as fast as he could and took her hand, which felt cold and fragile in his. She leaned heavily on him when she rose -- her dress and hair smelled strongly of lavender water. Neil was reminded strongly of Mrs. Carew, though he thought the comparison would offend this lady. 

“You are -- related to Samuel?” Neil said, startled. 

The old woman looked at him strangely. “Related? Of course -- he is my grandson. My name is Eudora Rivers.” 

“I’m Neil Alston. Pleasure to meet you.” 

She was breathing heavily as they walked slowly towards the manor. Neil decided to keep his questions to himself for the time being. Instead, they spoke mostly of the weather. Miss Eudora proved to have an almost encyclopedic memory of local shipwrecks. She was in the middle of describing the pitiful fate of the _Annabel Hopkins _when Samuel approached them at great speed. 

“Eudora, what’s this?” Samuel said hurriedly. “I wake up to Sally telling me that you’re nowhere in sight and find you in the company of some disreputable youth?” 

“Disreputable youth? Why, Samuel, isn’t this your friend? I saw you talking to him with that dark gentleman you’re so fond of -- oh, months ago. Now he’s returned and you’re so cold?” 

Neil frowned. Months? He looked around. But it was true -- it had been autumn when he had arrived here, and now it was clearly springtime. He had slept away the whole winter and felt no worse for it.

Samuel, usually so pale, colored for a moment, before he huffed impatiently. He linked arms with Eudora and walked energetically with her, leading their little party towards the house in faster clip. 

“You’ve always been such an abominable little spy, Eudora, even when you were a little girl.” 

“And you’ve always had a temper! You should treat your friend better, he seems harmless to me. Though he works hard to seem timorous.” 

“Yes. Doesn’t it seem like an act to you?” 

“Please don’t act like I’m not here,” Neil said, pained. 

Eudora shook her head. “Are you a sincere boy, Neil?” 

“Quite sincere!” 

“There you are.” 

They had reached the manor at last and Sally waiting. Samuel suggested that she and Sally take supper, while he and Neil explore the house a little more. Eudora apologized for not being able to accompany them on this adventure -- the uncertain floorboards on the upper levels were far too frightening for her old bones. She was promptly forgiven and left to her supper. 

“Why does she think you are her grandson?” Neil asked as soon the door to the dining room closed on them. Samuel gave him a wary look, lifting a lantern up to his face to emphasize his disapproval. 

“Do you always demand details of people’s family lives when you’ve just met them?” 

“If they’re mathematical impossibilities, yes. I’ve seen your tomb -- your birthdate!”

“Odious little spy, I’m surprised you can read,” Samuel said, leading him up the stairs and into a long, dark corridor. “Do you want to see the West Wing? It’s partially burned -- that’s why Eudora won’t venture there.” 

“Is there anything worth seeing?” Neil asked disinterestedly. 

“Oh, the hall of portraits, the ballroom, my father’s study … Unfortunately, it had been an important place.” The farther they ventured away from the habited parts of the house, the more and more Neil was reminded of the mausoleum he woken in earlier. This was a grave, as much as any other. 

“Let me show you the portrait gallery, at least,” Samuel said. “There will be someone there you may recognize.” He opened a door on their left and led them in. His lantern made a shaft of light across a long hallway that was lined with oil paintings. Faces would be briefly illuminated and then sink back into the darkness. Neil’s sight was far better now than it had ever been before -- he moved about in full confidence, having no worries over stumbling over a chair or table, but in the dark it was difficult to make out the colors. 

Finally, Samuel stopped in front of a particular portrait -- one of a man, his wife and their dog. Though the man’s hair was covered by a white powdered wig, that it was Samuel’s portrait, though it was obvious he was on his best behavior. His wife was a lovely woman, with grey eyes and a shy, questioning smile. The dog was, perhaps, the most charming addition to the party, however. 

It was sad to think that two of the party in the portrait were long dead. 

“I met Delaney during my Grand Tour -- during our honeymoon -- and he offered to paint that portrait for us. He came back with us here and he ruined everything. Made it impossible for me to continue to be who I was. I abandoned my pregnant wife and estate and let it all go to ruin. When I came back, I was surprised that all that was left was an orphaned little girl and a ruined house. I raised her and I helped her get married — but now, again, she has no one left. Our roles have gotten switched somehow -- I’m the grandson, and she, the grandmother. It makes her happy to pretend, and makes far more sense than otherwise.” 

Samuel aimed his lantern to a particular miniature in the corner, hanging within a frame of other miniatures, half-hidden by a velvet curtain. “There’s the devil himself. My wife was quite talented in making miniatures, and she did one for him so we wouldn’t forget him. As if I could now!” 

Delaney looked out from his small portrait somberly enough. Though dressed in the style of the previous century, he seemed as comfortable in them as he had the previous evening. He was a man who belonged in every age or in none. Something in Neil’s heart ached. He had learned such terrible things about his benefactor. 

And yet he did not hesitate for a moment before taking the miniature from the frame and putting it in his pocket. He met Samuel’s gaze. 

“Do you mind terribly if I have it?”

“Would you put it back if I said yes?” 

“No,” Neil replied. 

“Then be welcome to it,” Samuel said. “Though I hope you would not perform some acts of self-abuse with it. I should forbid such activities under my roof — as my father did. But —” He sighed and shrugged. “I suppose it will do nothing here but gather dust.”

“What was your wife’s name?” 

“Hm?” 

“Her name?” 

“Oh, Pauline.” 

The silence between them stretched out for a long time before Samuel cleared his throat. “Well, it’s almost sunrise. Tomorrow night, I’ll show you how to hunt. Until then, you’ll have to stay out of the way.” 

“Should I go back to the mausoleum?” 

“Good lord no,” Samuel said. “Take one of the guest bedrooms -- the one Delaney stays in. I’ll show you. We’re not all in shambles.” As he said this, a piece of the roof fell down somewhere near them. “Ignore that. Pauline was supposed to bring the money into our marriage, while I bought house and the land. Unfortunately it didn’t quite work well for either of us.”

Later that day, Neil lay in his bed, protected from the sun by curtains on the windows as well as heavy canopies that surrounded the bed, and examined the miniature of Delaney more minutely. Really, every detail was perfect. How could Pauline stand to paint so finely the face of the man who had seduced away her husband? 

And yet, in his heart of hearts -- and in less enlightened but still very sincere places, Neil could admit to himself that he was as fascinated by Delaney as ever. In fact, perhaps even more now that he knew how deeply, shockingly Delaney had acted in the past, Neil wanted to confront him now. Would he be strong enough to do so? 

And what did that mean, anyway? 

Despite Samuel’s warning, Neil did try to take himself in hand, but it was the first time since he’d become a vampire and it was a strange experience. He felt wrong, cold when he ought to feel hot, and just odd all over. Delaney’s presence haunted him, as false-hearted as he had proved. He should still be here, teaching Neil what it was like to be what he was now. That was his responsibility, if it was anyone’s. 

He gazed more deeply at the miniature, seeing how each tiny brushstroke worked to make such a perfect likeness. How had poor Pauline Rivers’ hands been so steady, when Delaney was doing his very best to seduce her husband -- with great success, it would seem? 

“I wish you here,” Neil said to the darkness, to Delaney, wherever he was. “I have so many questions for you, even though I know you wouldn’t answer them even if you were here.”

He tucked his cock back into his trousers with a grunt of frustration. “At least you ought to have explained how sex worked when you’re dead. I won’t ask Samuel. I just won’t.” 

*

Two milkmaids, one with dark hair, one fair, walked down a country lane together hand in hand. Occasionally, they would stop to whisper something to each other and giggle. Neil and Samuel watched them from the shadowy hedges, snatches of their conversation floating up to them. 

“Oh Tess! How lovely you looked tonight!” said the dark-haired young woman. She kissed her friend’s mouth with enthusiasm, knocking her garland askance. 

Tess straightened it for her, saying scoldingly, “Really, Mary, you shouldn’t have drunk so much tonight. What will the other maids think tomorrow?” 

“What does it matter what those fools think?” Mary said a laugh. She pulled Tess closer to kiss her more thoroughly. 

Samuel yanked Neil backwards deeper into the woods. “It’s not going to work. Two people rarely do, especially if you’re hunting alone. One of them will try to scream and run, alerting someone. You’ll notice that we’ve gone abroad twenty miles from Flintheart. In the city, you can stay closer, but in the country like this, you absolutely cannot shit where you sleep.” 

“I wouldn’t have killed them,” Neil said indignantly. “A pair of milkmaids after May Day, what a pair of monsters we’d be.” 

“Right,” Samuel said. Then his gaze sharpened. He was looking off into the distance, to a vague shape of a man leaning against a haystack. They approached him carefully, and saw that he was a young man, perhaps even a boy, obviously a vagrant. His eyes were tired and and he looked up at them, blinkingly. The light was still enough to see them, but the dusky sky was streaked with blood-red light melting into darkness. 

“Good evening,” Samuel said pleasantly, “would you like to drink with us? We’re strangers here.”

“What’s your name?” Neil asked, when Samuel hit him sharply against his arm. 

“Don’t ask their names,” he said under his breath. 

The boy started to get up, but Samuel pushed him down again. “Don’t get up.” 

There was nothing elegant or merciful about what happened next. Neil’s thirst rose as he watched Samuel’s teeth pierce the boy’s dirt-smudged neck. He had been hungry for days, but he had been able to ignore it because he had no other choice. But the sight of bright red blood was enough to trigger him. 

He dropped to the ground and put his hand on the boy’s hair. “I’m sorry. What is your name? I’ll pray for you, I swear I will.” 

He could not say anything and Samuel’s scorn was palpable. When Samuel pulled away, however, Neil was not too above drinking too, though he thought the boy was quite dead when leaned in to do it. He wasn’t -- not quite. In one last push of desperate strength, the boy tore at Neil’s face with his fingers, drawing blood. 

Neil jerked away, startled. Samuel barked out laughing and then took out a knife from his pocket. 

“My name is Ewan, my mother --” said the boy, before Samuel cut his throat. 

Neil sat there stunned until Samuel said sharply, “Drink.” 

So he did. 

Afterwards, Samuel cut off Ewan’s head, saying that they couldn’t know if any of Neil’s blood had gotten into his mouth, and if he had swallowed it. “We can’t have _you _making any bastards now, can we?”

Neil said nothing, only vomited a little into the hole they had dug to throw Ewan’s body into.

*

The next day, he woke at noon and began to get ready. He washed his face and combed his hair. He composed a short letter to Delaney -- a very short letter -- two lines, asking for no forgiveness, as he thought Delaney would not expect any, and sealed it. As he was about to quit the room, a knock came at the door. 

“A letter for you,” said Sally, holding it for him. Curious, Neil took it from her and thanked her for bringing it to her. Airily, she accepted his thanks -- they rarely received mail here, and so it had been quite a stir when the postman arrived that morning to bring it to them. Eudora called to her to bring her some ribbons and Sally left again with a swirl of skirts. 

Neil saw that the envelope on top was loose, the address written in Delaney’s handwriting, but when he opened it, another letter slid out. It was addressed to him at Delaney’s old townhouse. It was from John Euston, his old tutor and friend. 

_Dearest Neil, _

_I hope this letter finds you well, though I do not know how it will find you at all -- since I do not have any idea where you can be! No one seems to know, as you, my friend, have fallen off the face of the Earth. _

_ I arrived last week for our lessons and found Delaney’s house shut and all the servants dismissed. I could not find any news of either you or him anywhere, though I had heard troubling rumors that that you may have died. I cannot believe it, Neil, for you seemed so healthy and full of vitality when we last met, though your mind seemed troubled somewhat. _

_I wish now I could have spoken to you further about what was troubling you then, for it must have been what caused you to leave so suddenly -- you and Delaney both. I have asked my father what could have caused this sudden departure, but he does not know, and will not speculate. Instead, he has persuaded me in joining his firm in the summer. Neil, will you hate me if I have betrayed the working man by working for my father? I truly believe having more money for the cause is for the best, but perhaps I am becoming more selfish in my old age. I am getting closer to twenty-five, you know. _

_PLEASE INFORM ME AS SOON AS YOU RETURN TO THE CITY. There are many plays I want you to see, things I am sure you will not be bored by as you were during _Much Ado About Nothing. _Take, for example, _Dracula, _which is the newest sensation in town. Everyone is seeing it twice and won’t stop talking about vampires! It’s very silly, I think… _

_Anyway, I miss our talks and I miss you. I know it’s very silly and my father says Delaney is always disappearing and reappearing again as if he never left, but_ you _concern me. I will close this letter but please write back to me soon, wherever you are. _

_Your sincere and affectionate friend, _

_John Euston _

Neil read the letter twice more. “Silly boy!” he murmured, sitting on his bed. He decided immediately that he could not reply to John’s letter. It was impossible. He would have to move among the world as if he were dead, because, shortly enough, he would be. He did not want to break John’s heart further, or lead him astray… 

Or let him know that vampires were anything other than beings of popular fiction. With that decided, Neil fed John’s letter to the fireplace, watching as it burned. 

In another life, he thought, they would have been friends -- real friends, who could always tell each other the truth. He could mourn that, as much as John could mourn the Neil he thought he knew. 

*

It was midnight and Samuel, Eudora and Neil were playing whist together when there was a knock at the door. Neil stopped paying attention at once, with a sense of palpable relief. He did not like whist and did not quite understand it. Playing it was not his choice. 

The knock came again. Samuel’s eyes did not leave his cards. “Sally is sleeping,” he said. “And I’m winning.” 

“It’s your house, as you never forget to remind me,” Neil said. 

“Well, it is my house and you are staying here, for free, practically …” 

The knocking became persistent. 

“My dear, you are our guest and I would do it, but I’m very old,” Eudora said, “and the door is _very_ heavy...” 

“Fine,” Neil said, putting down his cards. “I’ll get it. But Samuel -- I won’t play whist with you again.” 

“It doesn’t matter, you’re terrible at it!”

By the time Neil had made to the main hall to open the front door, the knocking had stopped. Perhaps, he thought, they had been mistaken Flintheart for another haunted manor…

But no such luck. 

“I have been waiting far too long for someone to open this door,” said a stooping figure, who seemed to unfold itself from the darkness of the doorway. The rain, which had kept Samuel and Neil inside all night, drove into the house in windy gusts. A carriage was waiting beyond him, with two watchful-looking footmen at the ready.

The man did not attempt to enter the house. Instead, he examined Neil closely. He was an odd looking man, with a pale triangle of face, a thin, unsmiling mouth, and a large aquiline nose. He was, undoubtedly, a vampire. Abruptly, he said, “Are you Neil Alston?” 

Neil hesitated for a moment and Samuel slid up behind and said, smoothly, “Why, Mr. Rankin! What’s the reason for your visit? Some council reason?” 

“Don’t feign ignorance, Rivers. You’ve been harboring a newly made vampire for months now without reporting it, which is also a violation.” 

“Oh, is it? I couldn’t possibly know that, I’m just a simple country squire, ignorant of all these new regulations. It used to be that anyone could take a tumble with a dark gentleman and become a vampire. Isn’t that how you turned, Mr. Rankin?” 

“That is not how I remember it,” Rankin said coldly. 

“Well, Puritans are not known for their memories. Except for Bible verses, of course.” 

“Nor are seedy aristocrats known for theirs. However, it is now a new century. There are rules that must be remembered _and_ followed, no matter who you are.” He focused on Neil again. “Now, _are_ you Neil Alston? This is important and otherwise this entire journey has been a waste.” 

“I am.” 

“Good.” Rankin turned and said loudly to the footmen, “Well? Bring him forth.”

The footmen went into the carriage and a few moments later, tossed out a beaten and bloodied body out on the ground. For a moment, Neil thought it was a corpse, but it began to move and he realized that the body was Delaney. He did not know he could move so fast. He was vaguely aware that Samuel was following behind him. 

He didn’t quite know what he was supposed to do once he was there -- would they fight with him? He didn’t have a weapon on him, except a knife he’d stolen from Samuel… 

But the footmen seemed to have no interest -- they stood back with an indifferent glare at him, while Delaney stirred at his touch with a pleasant murmur. “Neil! I knew you would be all right. Almost certain, in fact.” He smiled and Neil noticed that one of his eyes had been gouged out, leaving a terrible empty eye socket. 

“Stop staring,” Samuel hissed at him. “Help carry him into the house.” 

“Did they do this -- because of me?” Neil asked, his voice shaking. 

“What do you think, Neil?” For the first time, Samuel’s voice was empty of scorn or mischief. Neil shuddered and threw one of Delaney’s arms over his shoulder, while Samuel grabbed the other. Neil’s question went unanswered as they dragged Delaney back to the house. 

They passed Rankin on the steps. “Alston, we need to discuss the matter of your contract. If you do not sign it, you will not be able to continue as a vampire. If you do not sign, you will be staked, your body dragged into the sun. Will you do it now?” 

“Certainly not without reading it,” Neil said, “and hiring an attorney to review it beforehand.” 

“Let me inside so we can discuss it,” Rankin said smoothly. 

“I can’t invite you in,” Neil replied. “This isn’t my house.” 

“It’s mine,” Samuel said with great delight. “I may extend an invitation, if you restrict yourself from harming anyone inside, stay in the guest parlor for fifteen minutes, standing and touching nothing and then promptly leave the same way you came in. Do you accept those terms?” 

“I accept your terms,” Rankin said. “Thank you for letting me inside your lovely home.” 

“Samuel? Neil? What is taking so long?” called Eudora down the hall. Delaney, who had been so far insensible in Neil’s arms, seemed to rouse himself. 

“Don’t sign it,” he muttered to Neil. “Delay as much as you can.”

“EUDORA, BE A GOOD GIRL AND GO TO _BED!_” Samuel yelled out. 

“Don’t shout when you have visitors, Samuel,” Delaney said at a more normal volume and then cleared his throat. “If you would all excuse me for a moment, I would ask to, uh, put myself together a little beforehand.” 

“Take your time,” Rankin said with a smile. The expression fit poorly on his face. “But please remember that I haven’t much of it.” 

“Of course.” 

*

A few minutes later, Samuel, Neil and Delaney were seated on the blue damask sofa. Delaney had cleaned most of the blood from his face and hands and covered his eye with a black silk sash, cutting diagonally across his face. They all read the contract that Rankin had presented to Neil with quiet intensity. 

“Do all vampires have to sign this?” Neil asked doubtfully. The roll of paper reached all the way to his knees and he had to squint to read the fine print. 

“Every vampire made after the coronation of the Queen,” Rankin said seriously. “The situation in the last century was quite unacceptable. People ran wild -- including the two who sit so calmly down beside you. There had to be changes enacted on the highest levels of this country.” 

“What are the basic terms?” 

“In order to continue as a vampire, you agree not to make any new vampires, you agree not to tell any humans about the existence of vampires, and you agree not to kill humans unless you are in the gravest of danger, or to preserve the life of another living being.” 

“All of that sounds quite reasonable,” Neil said. He looked over at Delaney. “And yet, I wonder at the state of my sire. Delaney could not have possibly fallen under the conditions of new vampires, could he? And yet, he seems to have been punished for making me.” 

“He is a foreigner, and is treated as such.” 

Neil felt anger, as corrosive as acid, run through him. He leaned forward to read more of the contract. “This contract is made out to Neil Alston, especially. My name, in fact. It’s written in here several times. Once I sign it, it’s legal, is that correct?” 

“Of course. Once you sign, and it is witnessed -- by these two, or by my footmen, if they refuse…” 

“I’ll sign.” 

Both Delaney and Samuel, who had been quiet thus far, both began to talk at once. 

“Neil, perhaps you should think of this a little further,” Delaney said quickly. “We could go to the city and have my attorneys review it, and then go abroad -- see Paris together, it would be lovely --”

“You are an _utter_ idiot,” Samuel said, not mincing words. 

“Gentlemen, please,” Neil said, taking the proffered pen from Rankin and signing on the dotted line. “I am an Englishman, first and foremost. I’m sure it’ll be fine.” 

“Of course,” Rankin said with smug satisfaction. “I’m so glad you understand when so many don’t, Alston. Are you two going to witness it? No? Well. I’ll take it then.”

He surveyed the scene before them and said, pityingly, “My time is up, but I will say this. Alston, you don’t seem to be a bad sort. Despite where you come from, there is a chance for advancement here. It is, in fact, a new century. When you return to the city, come see me and the council. We will be able to do something for you. You need not be like Rivers, and wither on the vine, or be like Delaney and — degenerate. Instead, become something new. That’s all. 

Well! Delaney, Rivers, I suppose I won’t see you two at the Christmas Ball? No? Alston, I hope to see you there, at least.” 

“Goodnight, sir. I don’t think I’ll be going,” said Neil. 

Rankin shrugged and made his triumphant exit. 

.

“Well, enjoy the future staking,” Samuel said, getting up and dusting his hands. He left as well, presumably to check to see if Rankin had truly gone, leaving Neil and Delaney to sit together in awkward silence. 

“Delaney,” Neil began to say. 

Earnestly, Delaney said, “You needn’t worry about the eye, it will grow back. Eventually.” 

“What? No, I meant, I was looking at the papers my mother left me, and included there was my birth certificate. It turns out that I’m illegitimate, which isn’t a surprise. My father was never -- well, I never knew him. But, my name is actually Neil Elliot, after my mother. It’s not Neil Alston at all. That contract might not be binding after all, isn’t that right?”

“You knew that, signing?” 

“Yes, of course.” 

Delaney reached out and touched Neil’s face reverently. “Neil, you are so much _more_ than I could have ever imagined when I first met you. More intelligent, more beautiful, _stronger _\-- I am glad that I had a chance to save you. If I could have done it in a different way, I would have, I swear. But I had no other way.” 

“I know.” Neil kissed him. It was the first time he had ever kissed Delaney from his own volition and Delaney knew it. His benefactor was perfect still, his lips still bruised from his travails. His pale grey eye was wide and watchful. 

“I want to know you,” Neil said carefully. “For so long, I have wondered what it was like. I’ve -- waited. For you. I’m not a virgin, you understand. But with the changes that had happened to me, it is like am, that is to say, I lack a certain …” 

“Neil,” Delaney said softly, “I would be honored to accompany you on any journey you would like.”

“By journey -- to clarify, I meant that we fuck,” Neil said. 

Delaney took up his hand and kissed his fingers. “Yes, I meant that we fuck.” 

“Good.” Neil rose from his seat and pulled Delaney up with him. “Let’s not waste another moment.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Sath for a beta!! 
> 
> Notes:  
\- [Rake - Townes Van Zandt](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sx4PsxUvMqY). Please listen and get real fucking sad. 
> 
> \- [Here's a history of miniatures](http://www.vam.ac.uk/content/articles/h/a-history-of-the-portrait-miniature/). Absolutely, one could jack at least a few of them, <strike>despite my beta's doubts!!!</strike> Some beautiful tiny people on there, yo. 
> 
> \- The lesbian milkmaids are totally fine, they start a dairy together and Tess _never_ meets any fuckboi named Alec or Angel. 
> 
> \- I've had a WIP of Approximate Rankin, Puritan Vampire, for literal years, and it never went anywhere and here we are now. 
> 
> Anyway!! I will hopefully get the next chapter up for Spooky Halloween. Yes, they will certainly bang. And Delaney's thanatophobia is explored, but you know, sexily.


	4. Big Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delaney and Neil come together, only to fall apart.

There was something to be said for long-held desires that were suddenly granted. How thrilling it was, how terrifying, how strange. 

Neil felt as if he had been freezing on the steps of some grand mansion and then the doors had been thrown open and he had been suddenly ushered inside, conducted to a comfortable chair next to a grand fireplace. But he could not rest in such a place as this. He did not belong in such splendor. His skin crawled at such luxury. And besides, he longed to reach out and touch the flame. 

The difference between danger and comfort was more difficult to distinguish than it should have been. 

Somehow Neil and Delaney had made to Neil’s bedchamber with only a single candle to guide them. But the darkness that surrounded them seemed friendly to them, hiding them from prying eyes, even if it was only Samuel would have bothered looking. 

“This is my room,” Delaney said when they finally stumbled through the room, having gotten lost twice. “I’ve stayed here before.” 

“Yes,” Neil said breathlessly, “that’s why Samuel gave it to me. Should I make a fire for you?”

“Do you still fear the cold?” Delaney asked him, sitting on the bed while Neil turned away quickly and said no. 

“This place is so poorly lit, a fireplace gives more light than not,” he said, as he worked to kindle the fire. It burned slowly at first, but gained strength as he blew on it. “Samuel is very stringy with candles and oil lamps, and of course there is no gaslight.” 

“It is exactly the same as it was a century ago,” said Delaney, throwing himself down on the bed with a sigh. “Nothing has changed here except the people in it.” 

“Yes, I suppose so — but who cares about that!” Neil cried out, as he sprang up. He was on the bed in a moment and on Delaney in another. They kissed then, a slow delightful kiss that only ended when Neil pulled away and said, softly, “I only care about what happens now.” 

Delaney caressed his cheek. “Dearest Neil, I have missed you so. If I had not seen you again as you are, I would have felt it a great loss."

“Sir, I feel so guilty about your poor eye -- why won’t it heal?” Neil asked, his brow knitted in worry. “Is it some magic the council have done to it, when they pulled it out, some curse?” 

“You mustn’t worry about it,” Delaney said soothingly. “Do you find me hideous now?” 

“No! Quite the reverse!” Neil said quickly. “You are as madly dashing as ever.” 

“Your flattery is sweet because it is so very artless,” Delaney told him and pressed a kiss on Neil’s throat. Then he flipped Neil over so he was on top of him. They were rapidly losing clothing -- Neil more than Delaney, but that was all right. They had all night -- all morning to remedy that. 

“I will say something the council has done to me, something horrible for a creature like me..” Delaney threw back his head and sighed. It was such a theatrical gesture that Neil was obliged to look at him and wait to see what he wanted.

In time, Delaney said, “In truth, Neil, I’m starving. I have not had a drop of blood since I have last seen you. I’m using the last of my strength to speak to you now. If I do not drink anything now, I will have to slumber instead — and soon.”

“Why did you not tell me earlier?” asked Neil, aghast. 

“We were having such a wonderful time, I didn’t want my starvation to ruin things.”

“Truly?” Neil looked at his benefactor in disbelief. It was true that Delaney did look rather drawn and pale underneath the natural brown of his skin, but he was always rather on the thin and spiritual side. If starved he was, it manifested from the inside, from the burning look in his eye: it was hunger made manifest. 

Immediately Neil tried to think of a solution. “What blood could I bring you? The two humans here are off-limits, I’m sure youwill have to agree. Samuel made it clear to me when I arrived. His granddaughter means the world to him, and her servant helps her everyday.”

“Certainly, I wouldn’t dream of it.” Delaney looked slightly removed, as deep in thought. “You know, in such cases such as these, vampires are allowed to drink from each other.”

“Oh? That is … certainly an idea…” 

Delaney chucked under Neil’s chin. “Is it so shocking, my dear?”

Neil pulled away and said, “The more I learn about vampirism, the more depraved it seems.”

“That I cannot deny. Say yes, Neil,” Delaney said and kissed him. It was a deep kiss, a thrilling kiss. Neil felt his head spin around. He knew that Delaney had spoken before of how he could use influence on others to let him drink their blood but now he thought he could feel that same pull on himself.

And it was not an unfamiliar feeling — he had felt it during his first days in Delaney’s care, when he had known nothing of the man who would save him and damn him at the same time. It had been a strange, dream-like period of his life, looking back on it, Neil could not say for certain if he regretted what had happened to him or not. 

Certainly, he did not wish to be mouldering in the churchyard of Saint Catherine’s at this moment. And yet, he wished, more than anything, to have made his own decisions about what had happened to him in every step of the way here -- even if he ended up at the same place anyway. 

How could he explain any of this to Delaney? He could hardly explain it to himself! In frustration, Neil pushed Delaney against the bed. Delaney’s coat, which had been wrapped loosely across his shoulders, slipped off him onto the floor.

“You are my beloved benefactor and I will do my best to help you, but sir, I beg you not to work your will on me on that way —”

He stopped dead at the enormous stain of long-dried blood that marred the front of Delaney’s shirt. It looked like Delaney had had his throat cut several times. Delaney glanced down at the object of Neil’s horror and shrugged. “Not to worry. Most of it isn’t mine.”

Neil laughed in disbelief. “Oh yes. What’s a few pitchers of spilled blood between vampires?”

Delaney pursed his lips together and said, “Never mind that. You are right to remonstrate me just now — it is easy for me to work my will on others. I have done it so long that is second nature for me. But I mustn’t — not with you.”

“Not with anyone!”

“Dearest Neil, you are too tender-hearted. How would I eat otherwise?” Delaney’s teeth were so sharp when he smiled. It was as unnerving as it was arousing to look at him, so Neil looked away. 

Neil said, “I understand now, the way you’re acting. It’s because you’re hungry.” He gripped Delaney’s arm and smiled. He hoped his mouth didn’t tremble. 

“Yes, I’m starving,” Delaney said seriously. “But I could impose on Samuel, it would be no trouble at all. Where has he gone to? Perhaps he’s still tormenting Rankin -- what a tease he is.”

“No,” Neil said strongly. “I’m sure he isn’t doing that. He’s probably already sleeping. It’s already dawn, after all.” 

“You have such faith in him! May it be rewarded.” Delaney sat up and stretched. “Well, I could command him, it’s his house and I am his guest and his sire. But what do you mean, just now, that _you understood_? Neil, you can’t imagine that I want you because I just want to eat from you. It isn’t true -- it would be a hideous waste.” 

“I only thought — that would please you,” Neil said. “And it wouldn’t be a waste. I would be fine. I think.” 

“You would, but no. You please me already,” Delaney said. “Let me prove it to you, my dearest boy.” 

Neil shuddered a little at his words — the terrible tenderness of them, the awful sweetness. It felt wrong, but he desired it so. He began to unbutton his shirt, but Delaney stopped him, touched his chest and lingered there.

“Aren’t you going to bite my neck?”

“No,” Delaney said, matter-of-factly. “Take off your trousers instead.”

“So are you going suck my cock, sir?” Neil did not think he was capable of blushing anymore, could his face even heat up? But he felt very self-conscious of the words tumbling of his mouth and avidly watching Delaney’s reaction as a result.

Delaney looked down for a moment. He was smiling. “Yes. That is my sincere wish. And that is not me using my powers on you, Neil. I would not, I swear.” 

“Fine, then. Do it,” Neil said. He didn’t care if he sounded like a petulant child. This night hadn’t turned out at all like he had wished. His thoughts felt hopelessly disordered. 

So he concentrated now undressing. He pulled himself back and unbuttoned his trousers and began to wriggle out of them. He felt ridiculous, and that made him angry. 

Delaney was toying with him — he couldn’t be sincere. Delaney always did this to him, led him along a merry way until suddenly he would pull the rug from under Neil’s feet once again. 

To keep falling for the same tricks was its own sort of madness. 

But Neil had been honestly frustrated since he had been turned into a vampire. Nothing had felt right afterwards, nothing had reacted the same. But his feelings hadn’t changed, nor had his desires. And he wanted to have sex. He wanted to feel something, he wanted to be touched. 

He wanted Delaney to suck his cock.

_So let him do it._

“Neil,” Delaney said softly. He had positioned himself in between Neil’s legs. Not for the first time, Neil considered the relative size of their bodies. It wasn’t that Delaney was such a large man himself — he was not, but he was just larger than Neil himself. He kissed the creased of Neil’s hip, his tongue lingered for a moment against skin for a moment before he pulled away. 

“Your skin’s soft for the life you’ve led,” Delaney said before he swallowed down Neil’s cock. Neil gasped and thrust forward, not meaning to gag Delaney, but —

“I was too ill to be much of a laborer,” Neil said, panting. Tentatively he reached out and touched Delaney’s hair. It felt smooth against his hands, and Neil marveled at that. Could all the blood flying around have avoided his hair every time?

“We have so much to talk about, to learn about each other,” Delaney said, letting the tip of Neil’s cock rest against his bottom lip. “You don’t even know where I’m from, do you?” 

“I didn’t think you’d tell me, if I asked…” 

“I would always tell you the truth, Neil. Always.” 

“_Liar._” 

Delaney laughed at that and licked at Neil’s cock. He let some of his teeth sharpen enough so that they would drag against Neil’s skin, leaving faint red mark against his hips. Neil groaned, pressed his head against his pillow. He stared at the underside of the canopy. If all the dust clinging to it would fall on them, they would be smothered, supposed immortality or no. 

He came with a spurt of pre-come into Delaney’s mouth. Delaney swallowed and then bit him deeply on his left thigh. So far, Neil had been rather enjoying the fellatio — more for the thrill of his benefactor having his mouth on his cock than the stellar quality of it — but the moment Delaney bit him, his mind went white hot and blazing with the pleasure of it. He moved his thigh to be closer to Delaney’s face, wrapping his other leg around Delaney’s neck. 

Delaney drank and_ drank_. The more he drank, the more Neil wanted him to drink. When Delaney pulled free for a moment, Neil whined in protest and thought about grabbing his neck and putting it back where it belonged, but he stopped in time. Instead, he observed the arresting change in Delaney. 

At some point, Delaney’s eye-patch had slipped off his face, leaving his face exposed. His eye, usually bright grey eye, seemed strangely red with the infusion of blood. His other eye, ruined and gouged, had still not grown back. And the bottom half of his face was bathed in blood. Only his teeth — fanged and sharp, were white against the sea of red. 

Sitting back on his haunches, he looked immensely satisfied. 

“I — I see why you said that vampires rarely drink from each other,” Neil said, after a long moment. If his heart still could beat, it would be pounding out of his chest. 

“Yes,” Delaney said. “Too much of it is … Ruinous.” 

Neil kissed him, licking blood from his face. “When can we do it again?”

“When you’ve fed again,” Delaney told him, kissing him back.

“Do other humans feel this way, when you bite them?”

“You’ve fed on them. What do you think?”

Neil shook his head. “No. They only feel the pain and horror of it. The pleasure is ours alone.”

Delaney pulled him down and wrapped his arms around Neil. Neil rubbed against him, knowing that Delaney’s cock was still hard against his thigh.

“How can you stand to sleep? I want to go slit someone’s throat right now and drain them dry,” Neil muttered. He pressed his fangs into Delaney’s shoulder.

“It’s morning now. You’ll be burned to a crisp before you can do a thing. Sleep.”

It was easier said than done.

Neil slept fitfully and had dark dreams. He remembered none of them — perhaps it was not fair to call them dreams, in truth. A vampire’s dreams were mostly unspeakable things. 

In the evening, when he woke, the first thing he told Delaney was, “You’re covered in blood. Do you want me draw you a bath?”

“So kind of you to offer,” Delaney said. He seemed rather flush and Neil wondered he if he had gone out while he had been sleeping. Neil didn’t ask. 

Delaney stretched out, casual or only pretending. “But you’re not my servant nor my valet, remember?” 

“None of them are present at the moment,” Neil pointed out. “Besides you’ve been murdered in your clothes. Multiple times, it seems. You need it.”

“It’s a hazard of this life — well, this unlife.”

“I’ll ask Sally to start boiling the water for you, and to take your clothes to be laundered.” He slipped out of bed and began to get dressed. 

Delaney cleared his throat. “Neil, before you go…” 

Neil glanced at the mirror on the dressing table and saw nothing but a blurry-looking monster staring back at him. He turned back to Delaney. “Do I look deranged?” 

“Only a little,” Delaney said and beckoned him closer. “Let me fix your hair…” 

*

“Now, are you sure you can bring all this water up the stairs? We usually bath down here, that way the water doesn’t have a chance to cool,” said Sally worriedly. 

“Not to worry,” Neil said. He had two buckets of near-boiling water to handle. “I’ve a discerning gentleman to please. He would like to bath upstairs, so upstairs I must go.” 

“Mr. Rivers baths downstairs as well,” Sally said reproachfully. 

“I’ll come down if I need more,” Neil assured her. 

“Well, you can certainly boil more,” she said, exasperated. 

“Thank you, Sally,” Neil said, as he left the kitchen, the buckets banging against the door frames as he did so. He didn’t spill anything, or so he thought, but it was a close thing. Neil was far stronger now than he had ever been in life. But still, this had been more of a production than he had been expecting, from dusting the bathtub and finding the necessary soaps and lotions to get ready for it all. 

He hadn’t seen Samuel since last night. Frankly, Neil had no idea what he would say to Samuel if he _should _see him. The last few days, it had seemed that they could built a delicate sort of friendship, which had mostly depended on Samuel insulting him, and Neil taking it, and giving back when he thought he could. But Samuel absenting himself as soon as Delaney returned was — saddening, but not unexpected. 

Delaney saying that he had gone off with Rankin -- that couldn’t be true, could it? Samuel surely hated Rankin as much as the rest of them did. No it probably that Samuel disliked that Delaney was here and couldn’t articulate it. 

“Oh Samuel, you idiot,” Neil muttered to himself. “It’s not that complicated…” 

“Oh, you talk to yourself too?” said Eudora as she emerged from a dark corner. She was wrapped in a red and black shawl, and peered at Neil suspiciously. 

“Mrs. Rivers! You must stop lurking in dark corners like that, it is a bad habit.”

“You needn’t tell me that, young man. You and my grandson love to tell me what to do, as if I don’t know! Well, I know know more than you think, I’m sure. Like that gentleman you’ve got upstairs. I’ve seen him before.”

“Mr. Delaney’s never been here before.” _Not in your lifetime, anyway. _“But that’s neither here nor there. Have you spoken to him?”

“Grandmother wouldn’t like that,” Eudora said primly. 

“Grandmother?” Neil said dubiously. “But isn’t she …”

“Dead? Oh yes, long gone into her grave, bless her. Why should that matter?”

“Uh,” Neil said awkwardly. He supposed ghosts couldn’t be so unlikely in a world that contained vampires as well. But it was rather sad that Pauline hadn’t been able to escape this dark place as well. Someone really ought have done. “I suppose she doesn’t like him?”

“She was fond of him before, I think, but he was a terrible houseguest.” In a stage whisper, she said, “_I think he may have stolen the silver._”

He stole something a little bigger than that, Neil wanted to tell her. But he held his tongue. “Oh, the water’s getting cold. Pardon me, Mrs. Rivers, but I must go.”

“Goodnight, Neil. I will speak to you again — remember to guard yourself!”

Neil hurried upstairs with the water and opened the door. Delaney was lounging on the lip of the bathtub, staring at the fireplace. He seemed to be in fine fettle tonight, and his nudity was more flagrant than it had been before, although of course it was necessary too. One couldn’t bathe half-dressed. At least, if one had a choice in the matter. 

“I thought you’d forgotten about me, Neil,” Delaney said with a smile. 

“Sorry, there were a lot of … stairs,” Neil muttered. “Should we start?” 

“Do with me what you will,” was Delany’s dramatic command. Neil sighed and began to pour the water into the prepared bathtub. He had had quite a time finding the bathtub, cleaning it, and bringing it into his room, with little to no help from Delaney himself. 

But finally, it was all arranged and proper -- or so it seemed, anyway. 

The unfortunate truth was that Neil had no training to be a valet and no skill in the same. He could try to ape what he had seen done to him in at Delaney’s house, but there, everything had been modern and convenient. Eventually Delaney took over and told Neil to pull a chair over so they could talk while he washed himself. 

“I think you wanted to talk about something with me last night,” Delaney said. 

“I’m surprised you could remember from the — frenzy,” Neil said, covering his face for a moment. A wave of embarrassment washed over him — he had acted so wildly, had said such terrible things! What Delaney could be referencing specifically, he had no idea. It was better to pretend ignorance anyway. 

“About my origins, Neil. If you’re truly curious, I would be glad to tell you everything you need to know about me. It is not a pleasant story by any means, but perhaps an illuminating one.” 

Delaney’s hair was exceptionally soft and dark. Neil’s hands twisted in knots, longing to touch it. “May I?” he asked, lifting them up. 

“Of course,” Delaney said. “I did not want to be onerous.” 

“You aren’t, not at all. I have always been fascinated by the past. I have never been to school, you know, but Father Bryce --”

Neil fell silent for a moment. It would not be correct to say that he had never thought of the priest since he had killed him, but it_ was_ true that Neil had succeeded in putting Father Bryce and all that surrounded him, including the tattered remains of Neil’s faith in God, into a little box inside his head that was never to be opened. It was fine for now. 

Neil gritted his teeth and pushed on. “He… well, sometimes he would read the Bible to me and explain some of the significance of the people mentioned, but I have always wanted to learn more.” 

“Now you have so much time to do so — the time and the means,” Delaney said, reaching out and touching Neil’s hand. “I’m so glad for you, Neil. You are so deserving of it.” 

Neil ducked his head down and nodded. “You are very kind.” 

“I was … not always kind. No, rather, I was once unbearable young man, the son of a chieftain of the Rasenna, or the Etruscans, as the Romans would later call us. I was proud of my position within the clan and how handsome I was, how brave. There was no one, I thought, who could compare to me. When one day a woman came from a clan east of us by the name of Arathia. I was bewitched by her, and determined that she should love me. I pursued her. She rebuffed me. I tried to charm her. She remained uncharmed. I brought to bear upon her all my riches and all my power, but she was unmoved. 

It was as if I had nothing she could ever want. I could not understand her at all. 

At last, desperate for some shred of hope, I asked her what I could do to make her mine. I had already put aside my hopes for the future, a place at my father’s side for her sake. What more could I give?”

Neil had stopped washing Delaney’s hair by now. Delaney took it over without protest. 

“She took pity on me, finally. ‘Come to your mother’s tomb with the jewels meant for your bride, if you truly love me,’ she told me. ‘There we can plight our trough and be bound forever.’ 

There were several things I had failed to consider in my ardor for the lovely Arathia. Why was it that I only saw her after dusk had settled over the hills of my home, and why did she never speak of the place she had come from or where she was going? Though she accepted our hospitality gladly, Arathia would never drink our wine nor eat our food, claiming it was too heavy for her stomach or uncouth for her tongue, but in truth she ate and drank nothing at all. I acknowledged nothing of this, accepted nothing of this, knew nothing. All I knew was that I loved her. When I went to my mother’s tomb, I went as a bridegroom on his wedding day.” 

Delaney smiled. “Can you imagine what happened next, Neil?” 

Neil slipped down from his chair, on to the floor. Gripping the edge of the tub, he dipped his hand into the water. It was cold — if Delaney had been a man living, or if he had any sense at all, he would have gotten up and out long ago. Neil reached out and grasped Delaney’s cock and began to stroke it. He smiled at Delaney’s pleased gasp. 

“Did she fuck you, sir, and then kill you?” 

“Almost exactly so,” Delaney said, his voice stirring against Neil’s ear. “Perhaps in the end she did feel some pity for me. Or else she thought to prolong my suffering — who can tell? But whatever the reason, as I was dying at her feet, Arathia suddenly knelt down and tore at her own wrist and shoved it into my mouth. I drank her blood, having no other choice, choking on it until I swooned. 

When I awoke, I was trapped inside my mother’s tomb, with a stone stuck in my mouth. I could not move, I could not cry out. I could only think, I could only be present in my mind, in my misery for endless years on end.” 

“Good God,” Neil said. He knew he must look stupid now, all slack jawed and staring. He had withdrawn his hand away but Delaney had caught him and held him fast, tangled his fingers with his own. 

“You see, in some ways it was lucky. Young vampires can be quite deranged in their first few centuries. I spent mine with the bones of my mother. At least she was only bones then, the poor thing. She died giving birth to me. What a disappointment I would have been to her, otherwise. There I perhaps I still would be, except some Romans decided that my family tomb would be the perfect place for their new necropolis. The building of which disturbed my slumber enough to dislodge the stone and free me. 

Ah, Neil. You have a question?” 

“... _A stone?_ A stone in a vampire’s mouth is enough to stop them?”

“A stone from the burial ground of their ancestors can be. That stone came from my family’s tomb, after all. Perhaps a stone from the Rivers crypt could stop Samuel. The next time we’re at Saint Catherine’s, we should pick up a half a brick and try with you.” 

“Fine, then,” Neil said. “Then you were free to go. What did you do then?” 

“Do you know what the difference is between a ghoul and a vampire?” 

“I didn’t know that ghouls were real until this very moment,” Neil confessed. 

“They are. I don’t recommend their company. It is the freshness of their victims, I should say. Vampires prefers theirs screaming and bleeding. I didn’t leave that necropolis as soon as I possibly could — but then again, I _was_ quite deranged by that point.” 

“What was your name?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Your name?”

“I don’t remember,” Delaney said. His expression flickered. “I do remember my mother’s name — how could I forget it? It was carved on the side of her tomb. Sethra Alethnas, long may she endure at the side of the gods.” 

“Yes,” Neil said softly. “Long may she.” 

“I did see Arathia again — during the fall of Rome. Naturally, I tried to kill her, but failed. She had power over me, she always would. A child can never kill their sire — or in very rare cases. We made amends and split a tribune between us. She told me that she had meant to go back — she just gotten distracted. I believed her and forgave her. 

In truth, some people simply aren’t meant to be parents.” 

“Truly,” Neil said, “That I can believe.”

“I hope you’re not thinking of me leaving you with Samuel. I’m sure you can agree that Samuel is a better companion than a desiccated corpse of one’s mother.”

“Yes, yes, I understand that. Is Arathia still active, I suppose? I can’t say alive, though I want to.”

“The last time I heard of her, yes. I think I would feel it if she were to be staked.” 

“Would I feel it if you were to — die?” Neil said, finally looking at Delaney. 

Delaney leaned close to him, “Would you be sad if I were to die, Neil?” 

Neil dropped his gaze. “Of course, I would. You have done so much for me, you’ve cared for me. I know I’m sometimes ungrateful, but I do so appreciate a second chance…” 

Delaney rose from his bath, the water streaming from his body. Neil sprang up to get him a sheet to wind around himself, which Delaney accepted with a murmur of thanks. He expected that the prolonged time in the bath would have wrinkled Delaney’s skin most awfully, but it seemed quite unaffected. 

Before Neil could ponder this further, the door slammed open and Samuel strode in, looking quite wild. Rather irrelevantly, Neil was reminded of a conversation he had had with Samuel a few weeks ago -- when the other vampire had let it slip that he’d always despised his flaming red hair. 

“A man is always born in the time he belongs, Neil,” Samuel said after fussing with his hair for a moment. “I counted myself lucky to have been born at a time when wigs were essential to any gentleman’s attire. Nowadays … Ugh. I can’t stand it.” 

“Perhaps they’ll come back into style,” Neil had said encouragingly. “Or you can dye your hair. Perhaps something darker?” 

The look Samuel had given him was both annoyed and dismissive. “Of course a fluffy-headed idiot like yourself couldn’t possibly understand.” 

“You’re the one talking about time and hair,” Neil muttered resentfully. 

But now Samuel’s hair was covered with a reddish-colored mud -- as was the rest of him. He was smiling but it was far from a friendly expression. There was an air of danger about him that Neil couldn’t understand. 

“Samuel,” Delaney said calmly, “what has happened to you? What have you done?” 

“What have I done?” Samuel echoed. “Rather, what have _you_ done, Father?” 

He came up to Delaney and slapped him across the face. In the quiet of the room, the sound of the slap reverberated in the strangest way. “Yes, you,” Samuel said calmly, “have betrayed my heart in the worst way that you could have.” 

“What’s happening?” Neil said, bewildered. 

“I was starving,” Delaney said coldly. “Neil could not give me enough and you were nowhere to be found.” 

“She is my only _living_ relative. You cannot stay here anymore.” Samuel turned to leave and hesitated for a moment in front of Neil. “You may stay, Neil. If you’d like.” Then he stormed out, leaving chaos in his wake. 

“I can’t understand it,” Neil said, “Delaney, you drank from _Eudora?_ Even though I told we agreed not to and even though she’s so old and frail? How _could _you?” 

“Old? Young? How can I tell?” Delaney said, with a hint of irritation in his voice. “She seemed young to me. I asked for her leave and she gave it to me gladly enough.”

“How can you say that to me when I know that you can change people’s minds with nothing but flick of your wrist?”

“What do what me to say? I think I have been very patient with you, explaining to you what I am.”

“Patient! I suppose you have been patient with me. You haven’t even fucked me yet. It’s been so costly for you to try, but still you persist.”

“I know you’re hurt so you insult me and lash out. I will take no offense, but the truth of it is that I cannot change who I am, Neil. And why should I? I have survived so long because of who I am. To change is to weaken, and die. And I don’t want to die… 

Samuel, while I love him … He has been too attached to his family, that’s always been his flaw. It was my fault for allowing him to come back while his descendants were still living, I suppose, but I’ve always been too indulgent with my children.”

“Too indulgent?” Neil tried to stand straight but he felt as though he was a puppet with its strings cut. “For God’s sake, listen to yourself! You just told me such a long story of how you turned into a vampire and it turns out that you haven’t learned a single fucking thing in your life! You just pursue whatever you want to the detriment of everyone you profess to love -- I can’t believe I was fooled yet again. I can’t stand this any longer. I must be free of you!” 

There was a dead silence in the room. For a moment it seemed as though Delaney would not believe him. Or worse than that, he would merely laugh and ignore him. But instead, Delaney turned and began to dress. 

After a moment, he said, with great deliberation, “I cannot stop you from going if that is what you wish. If I have any power over you, I will relinquish it.” 

“Can you do that?” Neil said. He asked in all honesty. He knew he sounded stupidly naive. He didn’t care. 

“Why would I try to keep someone who despised me?” Delaney asked him. “You may think I am such a villain as to try, but it sounds wearisome to me.” 

“Well, then,” Neil said, “I’ll be going home, then.” He went to the window and looked down to see that he could climb down rather easily to the ground below. Probably. He just had no desire to go outside the door, to the dark hall and run into Samuel or Eudora. What would he say to them? How could he possibly face them? 

No, the window was a much better option. 

He opened the window and scrambled outside.

Delaney rushed out behind him and said loudly, “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like? I’m running away,” Neil said, as he tried to scale the ivy-covered walls downwards from the second floor. The mist made the ivy almost too slick to be helpful but he made it down eventually.

As soon as he did, a heavy bundle came down at his feet and Delaney poked his head out the window and shouted, “That’s my cloak. Take it with you, it has some money and a letter of introduction in it, if you should need it.”

“Thank you!” Neil shouted back. “I’m sorry…”

Delaney waved his hand and closed the window. 

“I suppose I deserved that…” Neil muttered. He gathered up Delaney’s cloak and tried not to breathe it in too deeply. Delaney’s scent was intoxicating. He would embarrass himself if he smelled it further. Instead, he threw it over his own shoulders — it naturally too large for him, but he moved around in it well enough. He departed Flintheart Manor quickly, heading towards the post road. 

He’d been too long away from the city, he thought. It was better to go back to where he belonged. He was alone and friendless, true, but wasn’t he always thus?

Soon enough, he heard the sound of a carriage approaching him, towards the direction of the city. He hailed it but he doubted that it would stop. Delaney’s cloak was that of a gentleman’s, but of course, he had no hat. But it did stop for him, and the door swung open. 

Neil knew what to do, of course, though he had become unpracticed of late. 

“Hello, sir. May I come inside?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Chapter title this week comes from [Big Love - Fleetwood Mac](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4hPv6EuV7dM). Guys, I'm going through a hardcore Fleetwood Mac phase right now, as I do every couple years. Do I find the "uhh ~ uhh" sex noises in this very embarrassing? Am I listening to it without headphones right now? Hell yes. 
> 
> \- Etruscan tombs are so fucking [metal](https://whc.unesco.org/en/list/1158/). As are [vampire burials](https://www.smithsonianmag.com/smart-news/ancient-10-year-old-received-vampire-burial-prevent-return-dead-180970550/). I love it, man. Also please note that while Neil completely ignores Delaney telling him about ghouls in this universe, I love the concept of bloated and malevolent corpses, eating the dead, as much as I love angsty beautiful people, sippin' blood and having relationship troubs. 
> 
> \- AIRHORNS PLEASE!!! Please take a look a the very lovely **[art by the wonderful nisiedraws](https://nisiedrawsstuff.tumblr.com/post/188629215152/edward-delaney-neil-alton-forever-young-my)**!!! Please have a look, leave a like and reblog! 
> 
> \- Also, if you enjoyed this chapter or indeed any chapter, let me know! I’m thinking about switching the posting schedule for this fic on a 2 week basis. What do you think?


	5. Anthem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delaney bottoms for a series of meetings. He is very resentful!!

Over the long, dark centuries of existence, there were certain sparks of light. Things to cling to and assign meaning to, even as the light faded away.

He was not one to look for meaning, usually. He was a lighthearted creature, at the best of times, following the scent of humanity as it moved through the world. Lanterns and fires marked the landscape and he hunted people, coming among them only rarely, and only when he was hungry.

But then the world changed again and again. The forests and fields changed into cities and towns, and vampire changed from a hunter to a gentleman. A pleasant sort of man, with a pleasant manner. There would only be a twinge of danger to show that nothing had changed at all.

Behind the beguiling smile, lurked danger and sharp teeth. 

*

Long before Neil, long before Samuel too, the vampire met a man named Edward Delaney.

Edward was a young man, with a noble heart and a kind smile. The vampire that took his name did not care for any of that. He had been ready to break young Edward’s neck and drink his blood, as he had done many times before for many other young men whose hearts may have been as noble or whose smiles may have been as kind.

But — and here the vampire would later say that fate would sometimes show a strange zigzag pattern in life — he decided not to. Instead, he asked, “Where are you going, good sir?”

Edward, completely unaware of the danger he was in, smiled and told him. “I’m traveling to see the world and all the people in it. One day, I hope to return home, and show people what I’ve found.” 

“Don’t you think by the time you’ve returned, all the hidden places will be known?” the vampire asked him, as they walked down the darkened road together. He did not ask how it was that this young Englishman had made his way to a wild and deserted valley. He was obviously very lost -- his guide had abandoned him and perhaps had made off with most of his supplies as well. 

A lamb truly for the slaughter. 

“Perhaps,” said Edward. “But then, all old things will then be new again.” 

“Did your tour guide rob you? Tell me truthfully.” 

“Well… Perhaps. But I am astonished that I should find a gentleman such as yourself here!”

“Thank you,” said the vampire. He considered it. He had been rather bored of late -- taking off, as he had from a local castle of dire repute, to wander about and take in the scenery. But he was not one for nature, nor for supping on terrified peasants for long. He snapped his fingers together and said, “I could accompany you for a while, if you like. I’m sure the Count would not mind.” 

“I could not inconvenience you so,” Edward said. “Who is the Count?” 

“Oh, the less said of him the better,” the vampire assured him. “Let’s go.” 

From that moment on, they were inseparable from each other. Edward was a rich young man and the vampire always could get whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. 

Edward would call the vampire his friend and his soul’s companion. The vampire laughed at that, but allowed it. 

It was fascinating for the vampire who became Delaney to see a young man age and grow old, until one day, Edward Delaney asked him why he did not kill him the first day they had met.

“I wasn’t hungry that day,” said the vampire lightly and pressed a kiss on Edward’s wrinkled cheek.

“Will you drink from me now that I’m old and dying?”

“No. I prefer fresh blood.”

“How shallow you are now, old friend.”

The vampire laughed.

They buried old Edward Delaney in the graveyard of Saint Catherine’s, with only his son and heir in attendance at his grave.

*

It was lonely, living in a world that had no meaning. His children still clung to their old lives so fiercely because they thought there some meaning there. He did not begrudge them that. Delaney was not one to strip others of their faith. At least, not right away. 

It was midnight at Lord Ashton’s salon. The waiters served coffee as black as blood -- for some of the guests, it _was _blood, still faintly steaming from the donors’ veins -- Delaney took his up his bone-china cup and swirled the blood around, and clicked his tongue in disapproval. 

“It seems a waste,” he said at last. 

“You are too old-fashioned,” said Waithe, a young vampire who Delaney had never cared for. “Lord Ashton is a visionary. He’ll be the leader of the council soon, Mr. Euston says so. He could use your support.” 

“I’ve never cared for politics,” Delaney said. “Or blood served in … cups.” He put the cup down on the table and a waiter rushed over to see what was the matter. 

“Was it not to your satisfaction, sir? Was the blood not hot enough? I could bring you another, in exact euthermia.” 

“No, I find that I do not like blood served this way,” Delaney said. “I do thank you, however, and I have no complaints about the service.” 

“If you would like, sir, we could bring one of the live donors to you. Do you prefer a woman or a man?” 

“No,” Delaney said sharply. “Please make my excuses to Lord Ashton. I have business tomorrow that I must attend to and cannot linger. It has been -- a lovely time.” 

There are many at the party he knew, who either bid him a lazy goodbye, or else none at all. A smirk and a bow was enough of an acknowledgment of that. Rankin, however, caught him as he was going out. He usually could not abide festivities at all, and only attended because the council forced him to. 

“Mr. Delaney,” he said gravely. “If you would wait a moment.” 

“What is it?” Delaney said. “The night won’t last forever, Goodman Rankin. We should both use it as much as we can.”

“Indeed.” Rankin crept closer and blinked down at him. “We at the council were discussing why it was that such an old and experienced vampire such as yourself had never joined us, despite numerous invitations over the years. Do we not seem friendly to you, Mr. Delaney?” 

“I do consider Mr. Euston my friend, and I have come to Lord Ashton’s delightful salon over the course of some years. But as I said to young Waithe, I am not one for politics.” 

“Is it really politics to be concerned about the survival of our species in this coming century?” 

“I’ve seen many new centuries, Rankin.” 

“Not like this one.” 

Delaney hesitated and nodded. “You are right. Every day I read in the newspaper of some astonishing new invention. But do you think our species would ever band together so nicely as that? We are not as cooperative as even the most fractious of humans.” 

“Your opinion of your own kind is so low?” 

“As you said, I am old and experienced.” 

“And you have no desire to help?” 

Delaney laughed. “Perhaps if I thought it truly would help. But just now, I am extraordinarily busy and cannot join. In addition to hating politics, I hate attending meetings, and I am told you have weekly ones. How dreadful. Have a good night, Rankin. I will write to Samuel to say that I have seen you. Have you anything to say to him?” 

“I hope he is rotting in his backwater,” said Rankin savagely. “If he lived somewhere _reasonable_, you could send him in your stead, you know.” 

“Well, I’ve wasted enough time,” Delaney said. “Good night.” 

“Lord Ashton will want to speak to you. Mr. Euston as well,” Rankin’s voice followed him out. “You can’t side-step this forever, Delaney. Not even you can do it.” 

Rankin had always been unreasonably earnest for a vampire. It was perhaps the best thing for him that he had been given the task to be the council's attack dog, or else he would have become dust long ago in sheer frustration. Delaney barreled out of Lord Ashton’s elegant townhouse with no other resistance and found himself out in the rain-swept December night outside. 

No one was out at this time of morning save for wretches that had to be and himself. Delaney walked home in complete security, looking to the world like a drunken dandy. He even thought to weave his steps, to give credence to that impression.

He waited to be attacked — really, a lukewarm cup of blood hadn’t been enough to satisfy him — when he heard a wail from down the road. Delaney walked swiftly towards the source of the disturbance and found a carriage, seemingly abandoned at the entrance of an alleyway. The driver was missing and as Delaney approached, he saw the door swing open and a boy, fair-haired and young-looking, jumped out. He was armed with a knife and he was holding a purse. Delaney stepped back, but the boy hadn’t seen him. He fled into the night, his task completed.

Meanwhile, someone was still in the carriage, calling for help. Delaney poked his head in and asked if he could be of assistance.

“Are you harmed, sir?”

“No, no, but that little ruffian has made off with my purse. Don’t just stand there, call a constable!”

Delaney coughed. “Before I do that, sir, perhaps you should first cover yourself?”

The man glanced downward and huffed in embarrassment. Whatever he was going to say to defend himself, Delaney did not give him time to speak or escape. Not that he could -- Delaney could move very fast if he wished to, and he was rather hungry now. 

Delaney bit into the man’s sweaty neck with considerable relish. All in all, it was a much more satisfying dinner than a warmish cup of blood could ever be.

*

Delaney lived in a house that he had inherited from the old Edward Delaney, which had been made over several times to be suitable for the wear and tear of the centuries. Just lately, he had put in for gaslight and more advanced plumbing -- in all ways, it was a rather modish house. In twenty year periods, he would have to absent himself from his house, and arrange for the death of this particular version of Edward Delaney, and make way for another young man, who would come to inherit everything. Sometimes he would cut his hair, or affect a dark pair of glasses, but mostly, he did not bother.

He had long since discovered that people mostly accepted whatever was put in front of them, especially if it did not happen to interfere with whatever their commonplace lives.

Content to be a bemused observer in the lives of such people, Delaney was happy to be outside of it all. And so he remained — until one day, when he came one night to put his annual bouquet of flowers on his old friend’s grave.

He had done so when he saw a figure emerge from the gloom of the churchyard and bound into church itself. Delaney thought he recognized him, and then realized -- he was the young robber from some years ago. From the looks of it, he had not quite prospered since then -- he seemed ill, his face was pale and his gait, hunched. Without quite meaning to, Delaney followed him inside and saw him speaking briefly to the priest inside. 

The priest -- Delaney knew him to be Father Bryce, a rather fatuous man, though harmless and unobservant -- patted the boy on his shoulder and gave him something to eat. Delaney sat on a pew and waited for a chance to speak to the priest, to learn more about this young criminal. 

Some of his kind, he knew, could not bear to bring themselves inside a church or any kind of hallowed ground as this. Delaney, however, had no such qualms about it. He believed in no gods, past or present, and certainly not in the God that become so popular in the human imagination for so long. In such a savage universe, how could such a power exist? Nonetheless, he was considerate not to speak of his lack of belief around others -- especially with taxing individuals such as Rankin. 

When Father Bryce was free to speak to him, Delaney introduced himself. His name was familiar to the priest -- of course, it would be, old Edward Delaney’s grave was one of the oldest in the churchyard that was still yet unmolested by the depredations of time and convenience -- but it was the first time they had spoken. A pleasant conversation ensued about how Delaney could to help the church and the parishioners. Eventually, they came up with a scheme to distribute alms to the poor. 

*

Neil Alston was dying. His blood would curdle in Delaney’s mouth, if he would drink it. Father Bryce had much to say about him. He had been the first baby the priest had baptised in this parish, and so he had felt a sort of parental feeling over him, especially after the death of his mother. 

When they first spoke, Neil’s eyes burned fever-bright and he was smiling, as if he was privy to some private joke that only he knew. When his knees buckled from under him, Delaney acted without thinking and caught him. He knew the consequences. He knew that he was not allowed to make another one like himself. He knew perfectly well the trouble he would bring upon himself. 

He did it anyway. 

This strange boy should not die, just because his body was giving in. 

*

It was fairly simple, to turn a person into a vampire. Drain them of their blood, and replace that blood with a vampire’s blood. But that process presupposed many other conditions. Normal health, access to a grave from rest, undisturbed for some long while. Delaney did not think Neil would survive suddenly becoming a vampire. The process would turn wrong with him. Perhaps his disease would morph into something else; perhaps he would start rotting from the inside? Perhaps he would be a ghoul, mindless and dead in all but body alone?

No, Delaney decided, as Neil slept as if dead for three days inside his house, that he would have to change Neil in a different way. A slower way, an older way, a less certain way. He’d heard it done by others, but had never done it himself. He knew he needed to bring in Dr Winters to consult.

Dr Winters was human but he devoted his life to studying vampires to the point where he knew more than was good for him. The council deemed him a rather dangerous individual, but bringing him to heel would violate their charter and so he was able to operate rather freely -- for the moment, anyway. 

When Delaney presented him with Neil’s condition, Winters was fascinated. “Do you not think the boy’s tuberculosis would be cured if you were to drink his blood and replace it with your own?”

“He is on a knife-edge of survival,” Delaney said. “Indeed, it was only by my own suggestive powers that he now sleeps. I do not know how his disease would interact with my blood. As you know, one is science and another, magic.”

“That is — impossibly exciting,” said Winters. “Perhaps if we made a concentrated potion of your blood and fed it to him, slowly over time, he would be strengthened and you would be able to turn him completely.”

“Yes,” Delaney said, leaning forward in his seat. “That is perfect. I need you to do this for me.”

“Of course you must inform him of what you intend to do and receive permission from him that he would like to become a vampire like yourself.”

“Of course, I will naturally ask if he would like to die or not,” Delaney replied carelessly. “I cannot imagine what his answer will be.”

*

“What are you planning, Delaney?”

“Sir?” Delaney asked innocently. He was supping at his club, as usual, when a shadow fell upon him. It was, unfortunately, Lord Ashton. He supposed that he had tipped his hand by hiring out young John Euston to be Neil’s tutor, but it could not be helped — Delaney knew no other young person. 

But John Euston had naturally spoken to his father, and his father had naturally spoken to his employer — 

Lord Ashton was the highest ranking vampire still active in England. He had been turned at the end of his long, prosperous life and so still had a face and manner of a man somewhat past his prime, though still able to command respect from all who saw him. He was a handsome old man, with brilliant blue eyes, a head of leonine grey hair, and a rough hewn face, more suited for a laborer than the aristocrat he was. 

“I have heard you have taken on a ward,” said Lord Ashton, “which is an unheard of action on your part, for you are man of a quite languid disposition.”

“Indeed, I believe Rankin once called me intolerably slothful in my habits,” said Delaney. “But I was moved by a new spirit -- call it charity, if you will.”

“How wonderful. Will we meet your new ward soon? When you present him in front of the council, perhaps?”

“Oh. He is not —”

“Oh? He is not?” Lord Ashton’s voice was faintly mocking. It did not seem as though he believed him. 

But Delaney merely smiled and said, “No.”

“Delaney. Rise and walk with me, if you would.” 

“Of course,” Delaney said. “I was about to leave.” 

“You are always leaving,” Lord Ashton said. “Could it really be _charity _that moves you so? You are so much older than I, Delaney. I was told when I was turned not to expect much change in my new life, but you give me hope for transformation.” 

“Transformation is a difficult thing, Lord Ashton,” Delaney said, trying to slip out of the aristocrat’s grasp. Lord Ashton pulled him back with an amused chuckle. “And painful too. Far more painful than one would ever expect.” 

“So painfully earnest! I didn’t expect this from you, Delaney.” Lord Ashton widened his eyes. “What has changed you? I do not think I like it. You were so amusing before.” 

“I apologize,” Delaney said. “I will try to amuse you again.” 

“Will you? I think you do not like me enough to amuse me.” 

“I did not think men like you cared if you were liked,” Delaney replied. 

“That is a naive assumption on your part,” Lord Ashton said, leading him to door. “But really, I must ask -- why are you always trying to leave? There are many who would kill to be in your position, Delaney.” 

Delaney leaned in and whispered into Lord Ashton’s ear, “But I have nothing to whisper in your ear, Lord Ashton.” 

Lord Ashton quirked an eyebrow. “You lack imagination?” 

“Or venomous enough intent.” 

“Perhaps that’s something you should work on,” Lord Ashton said, frowning a little. “Truly, you are such an enigma, Delaney. I wish to know you better.” 

Delaney felt a tug of worry in the back of his mind, something he hadn’t felt for the longest time. Neil was in trouble, he knew. “If you’d pardon me, I really must go.”

“Is your ward in trouble, then?” 

“I wouldn’t know,” Delaney replied shortly. 

But of course, Neil was. Delaney found him taking a bite out of another boy. Things truly were progressing quickly from there. 

*

It had worked almost too well, Delaney thought. He traced a careful hand across Neil’s sleeping face. In the darkness of the carriage, his face was troubled but luminous and Delaney felt inexpressibly tender toward him. He wondered what his old friend Edward would have thought of this new weakness in him. Some new evidence, perhaps, that Delaney was more human than he pretended -- but that was not true. 

Delaney knew well enough that he had to harden his heart. For Neil’s sake as well as his own. Neil would have been safe enough in Samuel’s begrudging care -- Samuel was a crank and hermit, but he was, somehow or other, rather conscientious for his kind, and would obey Delaney’s instructions well enough. 

He wished -- 

Yes, he wished that his relations with Samuel were better than it currently was. He had not been at his best, that century when he had turned him. Samuel, of course, had been brash and handsome, but rather content with his life as it was. He had looked no further than having an affair of the heart with an eccentric painter who refused to paint by anything less than candlelight. 

And truly, Delaney had had no intentions of turning him either. If he hadn’t fallen ill when he did -- But that was always the case, wasn’t it? Humans always fell ill. They died. When old Edward Delaney had withered and died, Delaney had had no desire to turn him. The thought had never entered his head. The truth of it was that he knew that if he had done it, if he had turned Edward, his old friend would have despised him for it. 

As Samuel eventually did -- and in truth, as Neil would surely do as well. 

Mistakes upon mistakes, error upon error. 

Why did the council wish for him to join? Just to punish him? It was certainly not for his wisdom. Well, they would certainly get their wish, then. 

*

He returned to the city with the express wish to shut up the house and dismiss his servants. Idly, he wondered how this version of Edward Delaney would officially meet his end. Perhaps some kind of conflagration? A drowning was always interesting, especially if swept out to sea where there would be no hope to recover a body. He was pondering these possibilities when he heard the sounds of a carriage came rolling down his quiet street. Then came a sharp wrapping at the door. 

It was Rankin, of course. Who else could it be? 

“I requested it be me, sir,” Rankin said. “I thought you would appreciate it.” 

“There is no one else who would bother, Rankin,” Delaney said with a sigh. He took his hat and his cane. 

“Nonetheless. You have not been honest with us. It is most unfortunate.” 

*

The crowd was almost the same as it had been in the midnight salon, except Delaney was standing to attention on a platform in front of a table full of vampires who looked at him with various expressions of disgust, intrigue, amusement and, in one case, anger.

“Edward Delaney,” announced Rankin from the front, “you are accused by the council of unlawfully making a vampire, of violating the agreement you made with the council once you settled in England to abide by our rules and byways, and uphold the same. How do you plead?”

“Clearly, I have made a vampire, and I am guilty of what I am accused,” Delaney said. “However, my — victim had no knowledge of what was done to him, and did not agree to it. The penalties assessed by council cannot be levied against him. If approached correctly, I am certain he would agree to abide by the council’s rules.”

“Ignorance of the law is no excuse,” Lord Ashton said. “Isn’t that how the saying goes, Rankin?”

“Indeed, my lord. You are correct.”

“Why not put it to a vote?” Delaney said impatiently.

“We cannot,” said Lord Ashton with an insincere smile. “As it happens, one of our members, Mrs. Amberson, is traveling in Portugal. She will not return until next week. Shall we adjourn until then?”

“This why I never wished to join the council,” Delaney said passionately. “If you wish to kill me, do so in a timely manner.”

“I would not advise you to be so hasty, Edward,” said Jonathan Euston, who had been very quiet and pale until now. He was the only human in the room and seemed to feel it keenly, but Lord Ashton put a restraining hand on his shoulder and shook his head. 

“Delaney is, unfortunately, very dramatic. It is a pity he has such a horror for the stage, for he has such a talent,” said Lord Ashton. “Well, until the worthy Mrs. Amberson returns, our meeting will adjourn.”

“I must go home, then,” Delaney said hopefully. 

“Certainly not,” Lord Ashton said smoothly. “You will be my honored guest for as long as this process takes.” He smiled. “You know, I have a fascination with the ancients. It would be a good use of your time to give me more insight into your life and times -- Mr. Euston pointed out that staking you immediately would be a loss for the field of anthropology, at that.” 

“I have no interest in delivering lectures on my past.” 

“You have no choice in it either. Shall we go?” 

*

The next week, Mrs. Amberson was present, but Lord Ashton had to be called away on an urgent dinner appointment. The week after, there was another problem, then another. On and on it went — it was the world’s most irritating torture. Delaney was obliged to attend every meeting, but his case was never resolved, or truly, it was never on the agenda. It was maddening. 

And so it went on for some time until Delaney thought it likely he would be imprisoned by the sheer intractable nature of the vampire political machine — until Lord Ashton strode into what had been politely termed Delaney’s guest room and said, “Delaney, do you truly wish for this to come to an end?”

Delaney, who was stretched out in his bed, rolled over and said, “You know that I long for it.”

“The least you could do is sit up.”

Delaney sat up, but he did it begrudgingly. 

“Fine, then. It has been agreed. You and your conspirator will be punished, but your ward will be spared — if, of course, he agrees to abide by the rules set forth by the council.”

“You seem to think this is a conspiracy when it is not,” Delaney protested. “I do not understand why.”

Lord Ashton gave him a tight, impersonal smile. “If you wish to plead ignorance at this point, so be it.”

“Well. What’s my punishment to be, then?”

“Once the others arrive, you’ll see.”

When Delaney saw the first person they brought in, his heart sank like a stone. 

*

Dr. Winters seemed rather worse for wear than the last time time Delaney saw him. “I’m sorry for what I am to do,” he said, laying his hands briefly on Delaney’s face. They trembled, somewhat. “You see, they didn’t give me much choice in the matter.”

“It’s perfectly clear, Dr. Winters,” said Delaney said with gritted teeth. “Honestly, it was my fault for leaving you with the last bottle of my blood. It was — careless of me.”

“Enough apologizing,” said Lord Ashton. “Good Lord, I’m only asking you to blind him, not fuck him. Pardon my language, Mrs. Amberson.”

Mrs. Amberson, who originated from the court of King Charles II and was used to far more exciting talk than that, shrugged. “I would not be opposed to watching either event.”

“I would really rather not do either,” said Dr. Winters with a great deal of feeling. “No offense intended, Delaney.” 

“None taken.” 

“That is not an option for you,” Rankin said tranquilly. “I don’t know why you think you are in the position to negotiate or run out your time. We, at least, will never tire of waiting.” 

“This goes against everything I believe in. I became a doctor to help people, not to torture them.” 

“Delaney is not a human being, per se, doctor,” said Lord Ashton. “And those high-minded principles did not stop you from helping him with his highly illegal transformation of Neil Alston, or indeed it did not stop you from double-crossing Delaney and secreting his blood away. Did you not think your actions would not lead to consequences?” 

“Truly, not such dire ones.” 

“It’s a new administration, they have to make an example out of the two of you,” said Mrs. Amberson, who had made it very clear that she was there for the warm blood tea and nothing else. She appeared to be a comfortable-looking woman of about forty-five or so, with light blond hair and dark eyes. She was a terror of her knitting circle and her garden, widely known to be cursed. 

“Why do you know Neil’s name now?” Delaney asked, curiously. “I’m sure I didn’t tell you.” 

“Secure his head, please. Of course we would know, Delaney. We are to offer that poor wretch a new life. Why wouldn’t we know who he is?” 

Delaney stared at him. It seemed to him that Lord Ashton was not telling the truth. 

But then he could not question him further -- Dr. Winters was compelled to act, and it happened. Delaney had had far more gruesome things happen to him, but this time it was different. His blood, tinctured and turned against him, was awash in his wound, and it flowed out and out. 

He could not help it. He screamed. 

*

“Who turned Lord Ashton? And when?” Delaney asked Rankin on the miserable carriage ride over to Flintheart. He held a piece of bloody cloth to his eye. It still hadn’t stopped bleeding. 

Rankin rolled his eyes. “Do you imagine that I would ever tell you anything at all? You’ve gone mad.” 

“Was it you, Rankin? I can’t imagine letting myself be commanded around the country at the behest of my child, but perhaps you like it. You have always loved to serve.” 

“You are wounded and lashing out,” Rankin said sympathetically. “I do not mind it. In fact, I prefer your anger to your condescension.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“I have never wished to.” 

“He could have only been changed in the last twenty years,” Delaney said. “And suddenly, the laws for making new vampires became much more draconian. I wonder if those two things are somehow related?”

“You would think, Delaney, that you have learned not to speculate, especially in my presence.”

“I am sure you’ll report back everything you hear, no fear.”

Rankin stilled. “You think me loathsome because I have a responsibility. But you acted wrongly, Delaney. And so you suffered for it.”

“I saved a person who was dying and did not wish to die.”

“Did he tell you he wished to be a vampire? Did he understand what that meant?”

“Not in so many words. But his life was running out, there was so little time to explain.”

“You can fill the time with explanations and self-justifications as well as you wish, but you know you have done wrong. Otherwise, why did you not try to escape us?”

“Perhaps I thought it would be worse for him if I did.”

“Oh,” Rankin smiled. “You are redeemed by love, is that it? That is impossible for you, Delaney. You have no capability for love. You told me this yourself when we first met.”

“You must stop holding that against me. It was not my fault you confused me with your Dark Gentleman. I am not the devil and I have never been so.”

“Just be quiet,” Rankin said sharply. “I was young then, it was my first century.”

Delaney smirked and tried to ignore the yawning hunger inside him -- they hadn’t fed him all this time and of course he couldn’t bring himself to ask. His only hope was to return to Flintheart as soon as possible and take refuge there.

And to drink -- and see Neil -- if he was well --

*

That could have gone better, Delaney thought, as he watched Neil retreat into the darkness. But that it had become such a disaster was hardly a surprise, truly. In the excitement of Neil’s departure, all of his belongings were scattered about the room -- including the packet of his papers that Delaney remembered giving back to him. 

“I suppose I must take charge of this, then,” Delaney said. And because he was hopelessly inquisitive, he opened the packet and rifled through the contents. There were love letters inside, as well as Neil’s birth certificate and other important documents of note. But more striking than that was on those love letters were some seals of a noble house that Delaney immediately recognized -- as he had only just left there a day or two ago. 

“Oh fuck,” Delaney said to himself. 

Really. How stupid it all was. No one really tried with that, did they? _Ashton, Alston._ He nearly thrust it all into the fireplace in a fit of anger, but he stopped in time. 

There was a knock at the door. It was Sally -- she had come to bring him his freshly laundered clothes. When he asked her, rather shakily, if she was at all related to Samuel, she looked at him as if he had taken leave of his senses. 

“Sir,” Sally said reproachfully. “Mr. Rivers is one of the undead. I would not be related to him!” 

“That is what I thought,” Delaney said, taking one of Lord Ashton’s letters to Neil’s mother and carefully folding it into the inner pocket of his jacket. “I do not know what could have made him think that I would have -- well, I suppose it doesn’t matter now. I must take my leave now.” 

“So soon?” 

“Indeed,” Delaney said with a smile. “I must find someone now. It’s very important.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my beta, sath!! All remaining mistakes are mine, as always!! 
> 
> Despite loving Leonard Cohen so much (some would say, too much) I've held off until now!! [Anthem - Leonard Cohen](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bN7Hn357M6I). 
> 
> Mrs. Amberson is based on the excellent [Mrs. Amworth](https://ebooks.adelaide.edu.au/b/benson/ef/mrs-amworth/) and Booth Tankerton's _The Magnificent Ambersons_. I think we should add a little more E.F. Benson into our lives. 
> 
> Please check out this **[ vampire Neil and Delaney fanart by the wonderful Nisiedraws!!](https://nisiedrawsstuff.tumblr.com/post/188927874032/havishams-neil-delaney-again-i-love-these)**. Vampirism is truly the ultimate glowup!! 
> 
> SO JOIN US NEXT TIME FOR ... ACCIDENTAL INCEST ? HOUR ??? MAYBE ????????????  
we all know how Victorians loved that shit  



	6. Maybe I'm Amazed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil meets a long-lost relative, Samuel provides invaluable assistance and Delaney finally admits his feelings -- to the disinterest of all involved.

“Do you know me, sir?” Neil asked the stranger. The man had been looking at Neil quite intently for the longest time, in almost complete silence. They were sitting on opposite ends of the carriage. It had been quite an awkward journey and Neil, dwarfed as he was in Delaney’s cloak, wrapped it closer around himself. He knew it was hopeless to try to hide himself, and indeed, he could not do it, but there was something in the stranger’s penetrating stare that made him ill at ease. 

But was he indeed a stranger? Neil could not shake the feeling of recognition that clung to him, that had struck him as soon as he entered the carriage and beheld the stranger who had so courteously welcomed him inside from the chill night air. 

“It is remarkable how much you resemble her and myself. I did not think it would matter, before I saw you, but now I see the proof before my very eyes and I know that my actions cannot be prevented. I am sorry that it will cause you pain. You have already gone through much.” 

Neil reached out and shook the handle of the carriage door. It was locked. 

Sharply, Neil said, “What do you mean? Who are you?” 

“Do you really not know who I am, Neil? You wore my boots until just recently.” 

“What?” Neil shook his head. “No, no, no. My father’s been dead for years. That packet of letters Mrs. Carew gave me said so. Lord Ashton died when I was born. My mother was his mistress, she left penniless and alone afterwards. He provided nothing for her.” 

“Well, that part is true,” said Lord Ashton. “And I am technically dead. Really, you silly boy, aren’t you able to tell you’re in a carriage with a vampire by now?” 

“Shit. Fuck. Hell.” Neil reached out and rattled the handle of the carriage door. He used all his new-found strength this time. It didn’t move.

“Don’t bother with that. This carriage is insured against all assassins, both vampiric and not. Ah, my own issue, born in the gutter and destined to die there too, except for the interference of an irritating person who had no right to do what he did. And yet, we must make do, mustn’t we?”

Neil hunched over. “Are you going to kill me now?” 

“Boy, have you no soul at all?” 

Neil stared at him. “Do you believe poor people have souls, sir?” 

“Don’t be imprudent. I’m aware that they do, according to scripture. Although it is an open question whether a vampire retains his soul after death. Do you believe you still possess one?” 

“Yes,” Neil said, pulling Delaney’s cloak even more tightly around his neck. “Of course I do.” 

“I don’t believe you.” Lord Ashton’s eyes were exactly like his own, Neil realized. How had he failed to recognize them?

“The first person you killed was the parish priest who baptised you. Father Bryce. I was there when the body was discovered and the murder hushed up. A horrific sight, you know. In full view of anyone who might have come into the church in the morning. The deacon, for example, or the cleaning woman…” 

“I didn’t mean to kill him,” Neil said. “I had no control over my actions then, though I know it doesn’t matter. His face haunts me to this day. He was kind to me and I know I did a terrible thing in killing him. I do wish to atone for his death.” 

“You may speak words of contrition, but what acts have you done to show that you mean it?” 

“What I can do to show that?” Neil asked, honestly curious, if not a little afraid. 

Lord Ashton closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. “You are my son, as loathe as I am to admit, or I was until I learned more about you. You have survived through the years and finally you sit before me today. I admire those whose will is stronger than their bodies, even. 

I will offer you this to you, Neil: become my son in truth as well as in blood. Come with me, and I will provide you with the best education and training. You will lack nothing. You will be a true gentleman. Though you started late, I have no worries on that account -- you all the time to learn.” 

“And if I refuse?” 

“Oh, I can drop you off on the side of the road,” said Lord Ashton carelessly, leaning backwards against his chair. “No better off than you had been before.”

“And what would you demand of me, Father, if I was to accept your kind offer?” Neil asked. “For you have never thought of me before, though I’ve badly needed help.” 

“Shrewd of you to notice. Yes, of course, there is a price to be paid. Nothing unreasonable, I should think -- just a little of your blood. A vial of it a week should be quite enough.”

Neil tried to control his visceral disgust. “What would you do with it?”

Lord Ashton gave him a look of polite attention. “It is a matter of no concern to you.”

“When a vampire drinks another’s blood, it produces wild effects on them. Are you planning to drink my blood?”

“I can assure you, Neil. I have no plans whatsoever of drinking your blood for any reason. Though I am very displeased to hear that this has happened between you and Delaney. He is most improper.”

“It was a special circumstance,” Neil protested before he thought better of it and lapsed into silence. Lord Ashton eyed him cynically. 

“I’m sure that’s what he told a naive young person such as yourself…”

“I do not think it is wise of you to assume that I am naive,” Neil said, straightening up. “Your offer is obviously incomplete and comes with strings attached that you do not wish to tell me, so as to better trick me in the future. I find that I am quite sick of being bedeviled and tricked by men such as yourself. If you wish to deal with me, sir, be straight. I will know if you are not.”

“Oh? How so?”

“You are much like myself. You have certain gestures you make when you lie.”

Lord Ashton smiled for the first time. “I think I made a very grave error in not raising you. You have all the raw ingredients for being a very great —”

“Bastard?”

“Gentleman.”

“Similar enough.” 

“Come sit next to me,” said Lord Ashton with a twitch of his fingertips. Without even thinking about it, Neil stood and moved toward him before he realized what was happening. He stopped. He had thought only Delaney would have such a power over him -- as neither Samuel nor Rankin had ever pulled at him, or made him do anything he didn’t wish to do. 

Only Delaney had that power. Delaney and -- his father. 

He sat down next to Lord Ashton with a heavy sigh. 

“Poor child,” Lord Ashton said, placing a soothing hand on Neil’s head and stroking his hair. “Just listen to me. You’ll see, it’s for the best.” 

*

Delaney kicked open the door and stormed out, calling Samuel’s name. “I need to borrow your horse! Samuel, I know you’ve not gone to bed! Wake up!” Only silence answered him. Sally was obviously downstairs, taking the light with her. It was as if Delaney was alone in the house. But he did not think Samuel would have left — would he?

Cautiously, Delaney stepped into the hallway and followed the familiar route to Samuel’s rooms. It had been a very long time since he had gone this way, but he had not forgotten it. Once, after all, it had been his most common route in the house. The door was locked when he got there. He broke it and pushed open the door.

“Arise, Samuel! Apologies about the lock, you can send me a bill for it later --”

The rest of his sentence was swallowed up in his surprise. Samuel was lying in his bed — no surprise there -- but with him was the unpleasant sight of Rankin, sitting next to him, looking very much like the cat that had got the cream.

“Do you always barge into everyone’s rooms like that? How disturbing,” said Rankin conversationally. 

“It’s an emergency. A man’s life may be at stake,” said Delaney said with a toss of his hair. He looked at Samuel intently, realized that the other vampire was avoiding his eye. “Pardon the intrusion. I’m going to have to take your carriage, Rankin.” 

“And why do you think I will give it to you?” 

“Why don’t you ask the question you’re dying to ask, Edward?” Samuel asked, finally. His voice seemed distant and sad. Delaney approached him and bent down.

“I’m going into the city, possibly to kill a great amount of people, but mostly to rescue Neil. I want you to join me. I think it would do you some good to get out of the house.”

“Why would I care about Neil?” Samuel spat out, his face twisted in disgust. “That little idiot — he deserves —“ His voice wavered and he lapsed into silence. He stared into Delaney’s eyes. “What did he do? Is he dying?” 

“He is in the gravest danger,” Delaney said, taking Samuel’s hands into his own. “I don’t want to ask anything about why Rankin is here, but I will snap his neck and ruin your floors with his blood if he does not give me access to his carriage.” 

“All right, it’s decided then. I’m going with you to the city.” 

Delaney blinked. “Are you sure? You haven’t been abroad in … decades.” 

“Why did you ask me if you didn’t want to me go? Do you think I’m weak, that I can never leave my house?”

“No, it’s just --” Delaney sighed. “Time is of the essence. Rankin, surely you’re not leaving to warn Lord Ashton of us, are you?” 

Rankin had gotten up to stretch and dress. “I don’t need to, your plan, whatever it is, will never work. Lord Ashton has never failed to do whatever he wishes to do in his life. His only regret was that he discovered the existence of vampires so late.” 

Delaney got up from Samuel’s bedside, his eyes narrowed. “I’m curious, Rankin. You denied that you were Lord Ashton’s sire before, but that isn’t quite true, is it? There’s something queer going on here. Who is his sire? Or should I say -- how many sires does Lord Ashton have?” 

Rankin looked momentarily startled before he recovered himself. “So you happened to guess it? Yes, I helped bring Lord Ashton about, but I cannot command him.” 

“That is why he punished Dr. Winters and I so horribly -- he used the same technique for himself. You don’t want people getting the wrong idea, after all.” 

“What are you talking about?” Samuel demanded, getting up. He was unsteady on his feet and Delaney took his arm. “Since we’re in a sharing mood, Rankin told me that you’d bitten Eudora -- I believed him because I hated you very much just then but --” 

“You renewed his invitation and then let him in to spy on me?” Delaney asked, appalled. 

“I was in a temper,” Samuel replied. “Don’t act so wounded. You weren’t supposed to drink from Sally either.” 

“I received permission and she received compensation,” Delaney replied. 

“Whatever,” Samuel said. “What’s this about Lord Ashton?” 

“The gist of it is, a vampire can give his specially treated blood, over the course of months, to a human, and eventually that human will become a vampire. I did that to Neil, essentially. It seems that the same happened to Lord Ashton, though the blood did not come from the same vampire.” 

“Oh, that’s vile -- in both instances.” 

“Don’t be so judgmental! Neil wouldn’t have survived the traditional way. I’m not sure why Lord Ashton opted for blood-melange option, except that he wouldn’t be beholden to any one vampire otherwise.” 

Rankin cleared his throat. “You two are supposed to be threatening me. Must I remind you?” 

“Do we need do, Rankin?” Samuel said wearily. “Look at what that little lordling’s done to you. He didn’t even allow you the dignity letting you turn him. No. He squeezed you, teased and then made you his dog. If I were you, I would kill him to clear myself of the humiliation.” 

“What do you know of it?” Rankin snapped, his face tight with tension. “You haven’t left your house in fifty years. The entire world has changed. You have to change too, or else you’ll be left behind.” 

“Yes, yes, I haven’t gone anywhere, but you know what? I read,” Samuel said. 

“Yes, he reads,” Delaney echoed hopefully. He hadn’t actually known that Samuel did read modern books and newspapers, but knew better than to say so. 

Triumphantly, Samuel continued on, “I know when a man’s been made a fool of. And you, sir, have been made a fool of.” 

Samuel always did know how to get a rise out of anyone at all -- which Delaney knew all too well. He was pleased to note that it worked perfectly well on Rankin as well. He crumbled under pressure begrudgingly, feigning that he was going to return to the city in due course anyway, and it did not matter to him if he should have hangers-on to accompany him. 

“I cannot be responsible for what happens to you or to the boy you’re chasing after,” Rankin said loftily. “Please know that I am not helping you or hurting Lord Ashton. My loyalties are to the council only.” 

“Of course, you have mentioned this numerous times,” Delaney said as they waited for the carriage to be prepared the next night. He was annoyed at the delay but it could not be helped. Once Rankin’s resistance had been broken, so had dawn. 

Samuel was busy instructing Eudora, his granddaughter, on keeping safe in his absence, she attended to none of his instructions with any interest. Instead, her bright eyes and curiosity was focused on the louche figure of Delaney. 

“Sir,” she said clearly, “if I may speak to you for a moment.” 

“No, Eudora. You should not speak to him. He is not a gentleman,” said Samuel severely. 

“Excuse me, I have been a gentleman longer than your family has been gentry,” said Delaney grandly. He swept in with a bow. “Miss Eudora, a pleasure. We have met before, but under strained circumstances. I apologize for any distress I may have caused you or your grandmother. I did not mean it.” 

“Did you not?” Eudora said skeptically. 

Delaney hesitated and said, ruefully, “No. I did mean it then. I acted carelessly in the past, without thought to others. My apologies could not be enough to amend the hurt I caused.” 

“No, they could not,” Eudora said. “But since you have made your apologies, it would surely be up to others to decide if they are enough or not.” 

“I don’t think they are,” Samuel said suddenly. He had been very quiet and listening, but now thrust himself in between Delaney and Eudora. 

Eudora pursed her lips together. “I do not think you have ever apologized or indeed explained your actions to anyone, grandfather.” 

“Have I not?” Samuel said, in an attitude of great surprise. “Well, I cannot start now. Rankin! You must be anxious to return to the city. We should depart immediately, don’t you think?” 

“I don’t mind waiting,” Rankin drawled. “The horses could stand to be watered a little more.” 

“Shut up,” Samuel said, annoyed. 

Delaney said goodbye to Eudora for the last time and smiled when she bade him to write to her about Neil. It had offended her greatly that he had left without a word. Delaney assured her that he would. After that, with another goodbye to her grandfather, Eudora went inside, for the misty night air was not good for her. 

“Rankin,” Delaney said as he hoisted himself into the carriage. “Where did your two thugs go, by the way?” 

“They’re not mine,” Rankin said, bristling. “They left once their contract was up, as expected. I only stayed on because …” He glanced over at Samuel who glared at him defiantly. “Well, anyway. We’ll have to take turns managing the horses.” 

*

Once the carriage had entered the city, Lord Ashton had made his excuses and been dropped off at his club, leaving Neil with instructions to go on to his home and let the butler take charge of him. 

“I could run off and go to Delaney’s house,” Neil reminded him, as soon as Lord Ashton left the carriage. 

“You’ll find it boarded up and all the servants dismissed,” Lord Ashton reminded him. “I expect Delaney will go to the continent and find new projects there. He is a most faithless friend, do not set any store by him. Look to your own future, Neil.” 

And what future could that be? Neil had no idea what Lord Ashton’s true plans for him could be, only that he wanted Neil’s blood for his own purposes. That alone was dismaying enough. Neil mourned the brief moment of freedom he had felt on the road after quitting Delaney’s presence and his current trap. Why had he not been able to stay so free? 

Neil sighed as the carriage rolled on into a part of town that he had never dreamed of entering. Delaney lived in a fashionable district, but this was where the aristocrats -- where misplaced royalty -- lived. The carriage waited by a gate at the back of a grand, slate-colored mansion, and was let in. Neil was not surprised to see the carriage follow the path around to the back, to the servant’s entrance. 

A grey-faced butler by the name of Gresham stood waiting for them at the door. In quick succession, he brought Neil through the kitchens and a bewildering introduction to the staff -- many of whom eyed him knowingly -- and then on to a series of grand and grander halls and rooms, and then up a flight of stairs, to a beautiful room overlooking a park. This was to be his room. “I have instructed Simpson to prepare you a bath, Master Neil.” 

“Thank you,” Neil said, “I don’t need --”

“Once you are settled, your dinner will be brought to you. Lord Ashton has provided all the details of your diet. Tomorrow night, your music instructor will arrive, and after him, French, history and etiquette. You'll be kept busy for the foreseeable future.” 

“I did not think he meant it, educating me,” Neil said, astonished. 

“Oh no,” said Gresham. “My employer always means what he says.” 

It was then Gresham took his leave and Simpson arrived. The bathroom -- which was attached to Neil’s room -- was astonishing by itself. The bath was positively palatial. When Neil settled into it, he thought that he and Delaney could probably fit into it comfortably without being too intimate for words. At this thought, Neil castigated himself. Was he so heartless that he had forsaken Delaney so easily as that? He hadn’t really meant to leave him. He had thought Delaney would come after him, but that had been foolish -- he acknowledged that. He had really wanted to get out of that impossible situation. 

And so he had! 

The water was hot and soothing. Neil closed his eyes and resolved to think of Delaney no longer. It was too painful -- and too odd. Instead, he moved through a cloud of bubbles that smelled of flowers he couldn’t identify. It was lovely and suffocating. 

When Neil was finished with his bath, he saw that his clothes had been laid out for him. They were well-made and fit him perfectly. He wondered how that could be, but just then a soft knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. 

“Dinner, sir,” said Simpson, who was a pale young man, tall and seeming rather exhausted with life. “Lord Ashton requests that you take it with him downstairs.” 

“I didn’t know he’d arrived,” Neil said. 

“He asked for you especially,” Simpson said. “If you’d follow me.” 

Lord Ashton was waiting for them in private dining room. He smiled briefly at the sight of Neil and gestured for him to take the seat closest to him. Dinner was a tureen of steaming blood which Neil knew, intellectually, was perfectly nourishing for him but the sight of it horrified him deeply. 

“I know, it always upsets people when they see it for the first time,” said Lord Ashton, “as if having a writhing or screaming person present is much better. How many people have you killed and eaten since you’ve been turned, Neil? Besides that unfortunate priest, I mean?” 

“No one,” Neil said, allowing Gresham to serve him a bowlful of hot blood. Lord Ashton smiled. 

“I can tell when you lie as well,” Lord Ashton said simply, and sipped his blood. “You’re newly made and your maker is -- irresponsible. It is expected that you would have cut a wide swathe. But that will all change. I can make you the best example of vampire-kind in the country -- in the world, if need be.” 

“Why would you do that?” Neil demanded. He put down his spoon. 

“You’re my son, I have an obligation.” 

“No. You’ve never acknowledged me before, you’ve never cared for me. You never knew me. All these years, I only knew about you through stories my mother told me, stories that I realize now were utterly false. You could have never been a person my mother might have loved.” 

“You speak so passionately about things you have no idea of,”said Lord Ashton. “Finish your dinner and then we will speak further of it.” 

Speaking of it further turned out to mean following Lord Ashton to his cavernous study and waiting as he brought out a small wooden box from safe behind a painting of a bored looking woman holding a small dog on her lap. When he saw Neil looking at the painting critically, Lord Ashton said, “That was my mother’s youngest sister, your great aunt Elizabeth. Her fortunate marriage and lack of heirs enabled me to inherit all of this.” 

“Oh? It wasn’t through your hard work and canny decisions that did it?” Neil deadpanned. 

“I wouldn’t be so dismissive, you’ve got a chance to benefit from all of this as well. Ah, here it is.” Lord Ashton took out a little daguerreotype from the box and handed it to Neil. It was of a young woman, well-dressed and with a hesitant smile on her face. He knew at once that she was his mother, though he had known her when she was older and much, much more tired. 

“What does it matter if you have a picture of her in your study?” said Neil, not giving it back to Lord Ashton. “It doesn’t mean anything at all. Perhaps you only valued the cost of having the picture taken and so did not wish to dispose of it.” 

“A cynical way to think of it, and also very incorrect.” Lord Ashton plucked the daguerreotype out of Neil’s hands and put it back into the box. “Your mother was a very charming young woman, of whom I was very fond. If I hadn’t died when I did and spent the time afterwards in some distress, I’m confident I would have provided more assistance for her. As it is, I cannot change the past, only the future.” 

“You did not love her,” Neil said, “though when I was growing up, she would describe you in the most glowing terms.” 

“Oh? That was good of her.” Lord Ashton sighed. “Well, Neil, the time has come, I think.” He took out a glass vial and small, ivory handled knife. “You will have to forgive me this -- informal set-up. Once Dr. Winters is revived, I am sure he will come with his syringes and tapes, and it will be much more official.” 

“What has happened to Dr. Winters?” Neil asked, bewildered.

Lord Ashton shrugged. “You don’t need to ask. Should I cut or will you do it?” 

“I’ll cut.” Neil took the knife and hesitated for a moment. He looked into Lord Ashton’s guileless blue eyes. “Do you not feel any guilt whatsoever for what you ask of me?” 

“None. It is all for the best.” 

Neil made a small incision along the tendon of his right wrist, the skin healing over almost as soon as the knife cut through it. Eagerly, Lord Ashton grabbed the vial and squeezed his hand, so the blood would gush out into the vial. The wound closed over a moment later, leaving only a streak of blood on Neil’s skin. As quick as thinking, Lord Ashton swiped the blood away with his thumb and dipped it into his mouth. 

At Neil’s disquieted look, he smiled. “It was too tempting, my apologies.” 

*

Dawn was breaking across the horizon before Neil pulled the curtains closed and shut the shutters. He didn’t understand why he did not simply leave this strange house, but every time he made his way to the door, he would hesitate and find himself back in his own room. He had spent the hours since Lord Ashton left him trying to escape this place, and he could not do it. Finally, the sun had made up his mind for him. He would have to try to escape tomorrow night. 

He climbed into bed and went to sleep, troubled and sore. Immediately, he dropped into a dream -- a dream that felt like more than a dream. He was in Delaney’s room -- which he had only glimpsed into before. But now he was there, and with him was Delaney himself. They were pressed against each other, altogether nude, in a manner that Neil could not say he was used to. On impulse, he kissed Delaney -- after all, if it was a dream, why shouldn’t he do it? 

“It’s not a dream,” Delaney told him as soon as Neil pulled away. Neil blinked in surprise and had to disagree. “Well, it is a dream, but I am still here with you, dear Neil. We share the same blood, do you not remember?” 

“How could I possibly forget? But, Delaney, I’m in a terrible way,” Neil told him. “I can’t seem to leave here.” 

Delaney reached out and caressed his cheek. His eyes -- both of them, for it was a dream -- was warm and tender. “You are in Lord Ashton’s house?” 

“Yes. He took me there. He is my --” 

“Yes, I know -- your papers said as much. I’m sorry, Neil.” 

“He is not what I expected him to be. Well, I expected him to be dead, so it really has been a time of discovery.”

“Poor Neil, you have the worst luck with your father figures…” 

“What? I thought you told Samuel that you didn’t consider yourself our father even if you made us vampires.” 

“Oh, I meant Father Bryce and Lord Ashton,” Delaney said hurriedly. Neil stared at him for a moment before he started to laugh. He laughed so long and so hard that Delaney began to massage the back of his neck, so he didn’t choke. He didn’t have to, of course, it wasn’t as if Neil could choke now -- but Delaney was perhaps distracted by Neil’s incipient madness. 

Neil stopped laughing and looked at Delaney, suddenly somber. “I wish we could have spoken more to each other when we had the chance. Don’t you wish that as well?” 

“It is one of my great regrets that I failed you,” Delaney said, earnestly. “I hope to make it up to you when next we meet.” 

“I don’t want you to think -- I don’t know, it feels like every time we do speak, I tax you on the ways you’re terrible. I’m astonished that you would want to speak to me again.” 

“Perhaps I’m awed at how much you think I can improve,” Delaney said with a smile. 

“Am I … going mad?” Neil said. “This is a conversation I could not imagine having with you. Is this real?” 

“It is real,” Delaney assured him, kissing him. “We are linked together. We can speak as freely as possible.” 

“And yet, we haven’t done it now. All that time, wasted.” 

“It is not a waste to learn what we mean to each other, Neil. I have been humbled by knowing you, and it is no bad thing.” 

“You’re right.” Neil sighed. “But the embarrassing thing is that, well, I still long for you.” 

“I can imagine that is the case, as we are not currently sitting around and discussing it in a parlor, or --” Here a wicked look came into Delaney’s eyes. “At least, not for you, I think?” 

“Or for you either!” Neil exclaimed hotly. He settled himself against Delaney, so his mouth was pressed close against Delaney’s neck. His left hand stole across Delaney’s stomach and grasped at his cock. Delaney’s pale face flushed a little and his mouth opened slightly, his fangs pressing softly against his lower lip. Neil kissed him, hard. 

“We should be planning, talking strategies,” Delaney said, moving against him. “Neil…” 

“We can do that whenever we are asleep, you said,” Neil said. “Delaney, I want …” 

Delaney caught his chin and said, inquiringly, “What do you want, Neil?” 

“All right, so I want to fuck you,” Neil said hurriedly. “Would that be all right? Would you be angry at me?”

“Angry? Am I such a fool?" Delaney smiled. “Don’t answer that. I want you sincerely, Neil. However you wish.”

“You do,” Neil said, biting his lip. He could not believe Delaney would be so clear and open about his feelings. “This really is a dream.”

“It is a dream,” Delaney pressed his lips against Neil’s ear. “Do you want to wait until we’re truly together?”

“That sounds more like you,” Neil said, as he rubbed against Delaney with deliberate slowness. “Who knows when next we’ll meet? Let me, Edward.”

Delaney took a sharp breath. His eyes gleamed. “Yes, Neil. Yes.”

“A-all right,” Neil said, a little shakily. “I’ve never fucked anyone before. Being fucked, yes, but you’re going to have to show me how. So I know -- outside a dream.” 

“Of course,” Delaney said smoothly. He reached out and took out a vial of oil from under his pillow. At Neil’s skeptical look, he laughed. “Come between my legs and touch me.” 

They kissed again, but Neil knew that it wasn’t enough. He did what Delaney instructed -- fitting in between Delaney’s long legs and spilling the oil into his hands and on to his fingers. Delaney guided his hands to his hole and pressed in a finger. 

“Oh fuck,” Neil muttered. 

“Oh yes,” Delaney agreed. 

From Delaney’s expression of alert pleasure and lips that seemed to quiver in inner mirth, Neil could tell nothing. He used his fingers to slick the entrance, adding more oil to his fingers and his own cock. Hesitatingly, Neil moved forward until his cock was flush against Delaney’s hole. They looked at each other. 

“What you waiting for?” Delaney demanded, his voice like a slap. Neil didn’t know why he was waiting, so he thrust inside of Delaney with an oath. He could only move so much. Startled, his eyes sought Delaney’s. 

Delaney smiled a toothy smile, fangs and all. He felt tight and perfect, his body heated by the friction between them. 

“May I bite you?” Neil said, gasping. He remembered how wonderful it had felt, having been bitten. Surely it would just as pleasurable doing it too. He reached out and flicked one of Delaney’s flat, brown nipples. 

Delaney squeezed around him. “Of course, my darling.” 

So of course Neil bent down and bit him, sucking at the blood that rushed out and splashed across Delaney’s chest. Eagerly, Neil pulled out of Delaney to follow the trail of blood. The taste was pure bliss. He wanted more and more of it. Rubbing desperately against Delaney’s hard cock, he was on the verge of coming when -- 

A sudden thought struck him. “Delaney, before I wake up -- my father --” 

*

Delaney woke up with a start and saw Samuel’s judgmental glare boring into him. 

“It’s about time you woke up,” Samuel said. “I couldn’t stand all the twitching and moaning you were doing. It was highly embarrassing.” 

“Neil was going to tell me something about his father,” Delaney said, pushing the hair from his face. He felt rather ruffled. They were still stuck in the carriage, but at least it was moving. Apparently Rankin had given up on the notion of letting them lead the horses. 

“And you didn’t pay attention to what he was saying because of -- the moaning?” 

“Shut up,” Delaney said wearily. “I cannot stand all this carping.” 

“Old bastard. What will you do when you get into town? Surely you know that presenting yourself to Lord Ashton will not help you. If he has Neil in his clutches, he won’t let him go just because you ask nicely.” 

“He has no right to hold him,” Delaney said musingly. He noticed Samuel was staring at him. “What is it?” 

Samuel touched his check and Delaney did the same. His hand came away wet with blood. When he lifted up his eyepatch, Samuel whistled. 

“Your eye’s grown back,” Samuel said. “Disgusting -- did it grow when you came in your sleep?” 

“Samuel, please,” Delaney said, blinking. “This is why no one wishes to travel with you.”

“How dare you,” Samuel said with an offended sniff. “After you begged me to come with you!” 

“Everyone can make mistakes.”

Bitch, Samuel mouthed. 

*

Neil woke at midnight in a state of some excitement. When he had dressed and washed, he went downstairs and again tried to leave the premises. It was no good. He could not seem to cross the threshold again -- it was like that time with Samuel and Rankin and Flintheart Manor. He looked around to see if the butler or Simpson were about, but the whole house seemed empty. 

Empty and alone! How he wished Delaney, for all his flaws, was with him! 

“Neil.” Lord Ashton appeared from the head of the stairs. Reproachfully, he said, “You have overslept.” 

“My apologies, sir. I didn't mean to. Have the tutors gone away?” 

“There are no tutors, Neil. I will be teaching you myself.” 

“Oh, Lord,” Neil said faintly. Lord Ashton smiled at him and beckoned him closer. 

*

They arrived outside Lord Ashton’s house the next night. Rankin did not wish to accompany them -- he grew considerably more circumspect as they came to the city. But Samuel persuaded him to stay, though Delaney did not know by what method and had no desire to find out. 

To Delaney’s surprise, the gates opened for them right away and the butler greeted them at the front door. It was as if they were expected, and perhaps they were. They were conducted to a small parlor and told to wait. Lord Ashton’s house was very grand but rather soulless — the marble, the stone, and crystal all combined to give the impression of an empty mirror, reflecting nothing. 

Rather than making them wait, however, Lord Ashton strode in a few minutes later. “Delaney! You’ve recovered your eye, how robust of you,” he said pleasantly. “And Rivers — you are quite a legendary creature. I did not expect to see you abroad. And you, Rankin, were missed at last night’s council meeting. I suppose you have a good excuse?” 

There was something about Lord Ashton that seemed to sap the strength and certainty from everyone. Delaney did not know if this was a magic trick or just a personality that had grown cancerously large and overbearing. 

“I was away in the country, sir, and could not attend,” Rankin said. “It will not happen again.” 

“In the country? Taking in the fresh air, I suppose?” Lord Ashton said drily. 

“Pardon me,” Samuel said, “but I was told that Rankin is one of your makers -- perhaps I’m old-fashioned, but most vampires are obliged to give their sire more respect than that. It isn’t your business what Rankin does with his time.”

“Obliged to give their sires respect?” Delaney muttered to himself. “You could have fooled me.” 

Samuel kicked him under the table. 

Then he looked up and saw a familiar shadow across Lord Ashton’s shoulder. Eagerly, he said, “Neil! There you are. We’ve come to fetch you.” 

Neil emerged from the gloom of the hallway and took a seat next to Lord Ashton. He seemed oddly subdued and much different from the dream Neil as Delaney could have imagined. For one, he was clothed -- in a fine and costly suit, and for another, he seemed totally forlorn, his eyes downcast. 

“Lord Ashton, I thank you for hosting Neil, but I think we will take leave of you as soon as possible,” Delaney said, trying to catch Neil’s eye. 

“That would be Neil’s decision, surely?” Lord Ashton said. “Neil, do you wish to leave?” 

Neil looked up, finally. His eyes were red-rimmed and he looked distressed. “I am sorry, Delaney, but I do not wish to go with you. I have just reunited with my father and wish to stay beside him for a time. He has kindly offered to educate me.” 

Delaney sprang up from his chair. “What have you done with him?” 

“Nothing has been done to me,” Neil said. “I’ve decided this on my own accord. Or do you wish to keep me ignorant?” 

“You’re as ignorant as a pig,” Samuel said. “No amount of education can cure that.” 

“Shut up, Samuel,” Delaney said. He crossed the little space that separated him from Neil. Tentatively, he touched Neil’s face and looked deeply into his eyes. Neil looked back at him, but there was something strange in his expression. Neil seemed less there than he had been even in the dream. 

“What’s happened to you, Neil? You were on the verge of telling me something before we were torn apart. What was it?” 

“We agreed to part. Why do you pursue me still?” 

“I -- well, I care about you. What happens to you, I mean. One could say I -- I love you,” Delaney said hurriedly. Samuel snorted loudly. The stares from the others felt unbearable for Delaney, but he could not say anything but the truth -- it mattered that he did. 

Neil shook his head. “It no longer matters to me. Leave me, Delaney. I want nothing more to do with you.” 

“It seems that Neil has spoken. Gentlemen, if you would kindly leave, I would be much obliged,” said Lord Ashton. “We have much to learn now.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here it is again, an update for this fic. On time? Is there actually a schedule? Yes. Anyway, title from Paul McCartney because I've lost control of my life. Thank you, Sath, for providing the necessary beta. 
> 
> I want to thank y'all for reading and subscribing to this fic. If you would like, please leave a kudos or a comment below. It really makes a world of difference. 
> 
> Next time: a vampire masquerade and mistaken identities, and very casual crossdressing. Until then, good night. <3


	7. Magic Waltz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After nine years and several turnovers in affections and politics, everyone comes together for a masquerade. Surely nothing will go wrong?

**Nine years later.**

Neil stooped down and picked up a rock from the ground and pocketed it. He looked around to see if he had been observed, but it did not seem so.

“Neil!” A cry came over the low-slung graveyard wall, and the familiar figure of John Euston emerged from the gloom. “There you are. Come along, we’re going to miss the train.”

Neil smiled faintly at his friend’s anxiety. “That’s the beauty of trains, John. There’s usually another.”

“Not if you must, because of special circumstances, always take the night train.”

“All right, I take your meaning,” Neil replied. He took a final look at the tomb in front of him and touched the name Ashton carved on to it. 

They left the graveyard together and went back to the ancestral house of Lord Ashton, which a surprisingly modest Georgian manor covered in ivy. The owner of the house was not present — Lord Ashton rarely left the city, and found Neil’s fondness for the country to be rather amusing. But still, he allowed Neil to have this yearly indulgence — as far as vices went, it was a harmless one.

John Euston had replaced his father, now deceased, as the sole human on the council. Neil was uncertain whether he came along with him to his country retreat in his capacity as Neil’s friend or as a supervisor on behalf of Lord Ashton. In most cases, it would not matter. Neil had kept his end of the bargain for almost nine years. His life had fallen into predictable lines and save for a certain feeling of weakness he oftentimes felt, it was not at all unpleasant.

He and John talked about the upcoming masquerade that consumed all of Lord Ashton’s time. He had promised a wonderful surprise for all who would attend — an unmasking of a new kind of world for vampires and humans alike. 

“I have never seen him so excited,” Neil observed as their automobile was loaded with their baggage. It was hardly big enough to fit the two of them and their luggage, but it was dependable enough to take them to the train station.

“Is that a good thing or bad, I wonder,” John said with a significant look. Neil gave him a bland smile and did not comment further. Though Neil had now known his father for almost a decade now, he could not presume to know him intimately. 

As they drove through the dusky countryside, John observed, “Isn’t it strange that most vampires still insist on taking carriages everywhere? I’ve seen many refuse to get on an automobile at all.”

“Well, some of them are very old-fashioned,” Neil said. “Can’t make any concessions to modernity at all.” 

“Those who can’t change, won’t survive,” John said grandly. 

Neil looked at him, frowning. “I do miss when you were a socialist.” 

“I still am, of sorts,” John said, hurt at Neil’s doubtful look. 

*

Neil had heard that Delaney had gone abroad after all the trouble and hadn’t returned. His house had been let to a young family -- a banker and his wife and several children. Neil had gone by once or twice, but there was no change to be seen. Neil’s dreams were empty of his presence too — scrubbed clean, somehow. 

Neil knew well enough that he ought to move on -- and he did. He tried. When he began to live in Lord Ashton’s house, as pampered and cared for as he was, he sought out ways to help out the parish of Saint Catherine’s, as well as Mrs. Carew’s family. He had been right to fear that they would never see each other again -- she had died the next spring. But her daughter still lived, along with her son. Neil paid for the son’s school fees and supported the daughter. 

He also befriended the new priest at Saint Catherine’s but he never allowed himself to step foot inside the church itself. He did not know if it was because he was barred from it because of his guilt, or because he was one of the undead.

Delaney had been able to go in and out of the church without a care, but Delaney had been older than Christianity itself. Perhaps that counted for something. 

It was with some sadness that Neil headed back to the city. The overnight train was quiet enough that he was alone with his thoughts. Neil tried to read a new novel — it was about a widow who had fallen in love with a virile young Italian man, and the lengths her middle-class family would go through to drag her back to her conventional life. 

He couldn’t help but sympathize with the woman’s longing to find something -- some place -- that could revive her vitality. Wasn’t that all anyone wanted, in the end? 

“And yet, I don’t think that baby’s going to live,” Neil muttered to himself when he noticed a dark presence had seated itself in the seat opposite him. “Ah. Good evening, Rankin.”

“Alston,” said Rankin, folding his long fingers across his lap. “You seem paler than usual.”

“How can you tell?” Neil replied, putting away his book. He glanced over to the sleeping form of John and sighed. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“You’re a very rude young man, now. Have you forgotten your meekness completely?”

“I don’t need to inherit the world,” Neil said relaxedly. “Are you here on council business? We will be in town in a few hours.”

“Nothing like that.” Rankin frowned. His position on the council had been greatly reduced after his supposed defection, but he still stayed on, grimly determined to have his way. No one knew the obscurities of the council bylaws as thoroughly as Rankin did. It would be impossible to remove him entirely, except for a stake through the heart. 

And, luckily for Rankin, such violent actions had fallen out of favor since the incident with Delaney. 

“I wanted to ask if you knew Mr. Delaney has come back to the country. I read a report of it from my source in customs. He had spent some time in Italy, of all places, before he came back. Imagine that.”

“He’s from there,” Neil said at Rankin’s blank look. “He’s Etruscan. They were rivals for the Romans, but eventually they were overwhelmed…”

“I don’t need a history lesson,” Rankin said. “Heaven knows why he wishes to return here, then. Sentimental claptrap like that has always been a puzzle for me.”

“Perhaps he wishes to attend the masquerade. He won’t be able to, of course. He’s still persona non grata here. Also he wouldn’t have an invitation.”

There was certainly no reason to expect him to come, Neil reminded himself. Perhaps that lease for the house had expired and Delaney had come to settle it. 

“You know,” Rankin said, leaning over to him. “It isn’t healthy to be obsessed with your sire. Believe me, it will lead to some unfortunate circumstances.”

“I’m not a bit obsessed,” Neil said with a laugh. “Why it’s been almost 10 years since I’ve seen him. It would mean nothing to me to see him again. But now that you’ve mentioned, I’ve always been curious about _your_ sire. He couldn’t have really been the Devil, could he?” 

“Don’t be naive,” replied Rankin. “Anyway, the Devil isn’t real.”

Interested, Neil leaned in. “How could you say that? Aren’t you a Puritan? Isn’t the Devil, well, -- your favorite subject?” 

“You paint with a broad brush,” Rankin said with a shrug. “We’ve some hours left until we reach town. Would you like me to tell you the story of how I was made?” 

“If I can’t ask why you’re on this train,” Neil replied. 

“I’m here to spy on you. Isn’t it obvious?” 

“Well, all right then,” Neil said. “Tell me your story. I collect them, you know. People tell me them almost without prompting. I must have that sort of face.” 

“One that invites recollections? Not in the least, you look like Lord Ashton. Your face invites all to keep their secrets -- if they can.” 

“Well, he is my father.” 

“Indeed he is, you sly thing.”Rankin leaned back against his seat, his eyes distant. 

“You are right in this: when I was alive, I _was_ constantly afraid of the Devil. My father was a harsh and unyielding man and he made sure I knew my position among the Elect was always in the gravest doubt. While many of my fellows grew with the strength and confidence that comes with knowing their place in Heaven was secure, I had no such guarantees. My father would not allow it. Do you know my Christian name?” 

“Not at all,” Neil answered. 

“It is Approximate.” 

Neil snorted aloud, but Rankin’s grim expression did not change. Neil said, “... Your name is Approximate Rankin? Truly?” 

“Why not? The story goes that when the news of my birth reached my father, my foolish uncle asked him if such news made him happy, as he had not had the pleasure of having a living child delivered, as of yet. ‘Approximately so,’ was my father’s answer, and over the course of events, that became my name.” 

“That is an odd reaction, certainly. Was your father the reason you became a vampire?”

“There is some correlation there. Despite my father’s continued efforts, with my mother and later my stepmother, he was never able to have another living child. As I grew, I knew that all the expectations of my dead siblings also rode on my shoulders. It was -- unbearable. 

I became more and more determined to secure my place in Heaven -- my place which should’ve been next to my father’s, but that he told me was in such doubt and peril. I spent much of my time praying in the meeting house, even when everyone else had gone away. It was there, in the middle of the Massachusetts winter of 1690 --” 

“Hold on a minute, you’re an American?” 

“Is this truly what you have a question about?” Rankin sighed. “I am not _American_ per se. I was born in the colonies, long before they were independent. I have lived in England longer than most.” 

“But all things being equal, you were no more born here than Delaney was.” 

“All things are not equal, I was an Englishman even if I was born in America. Do you want to hear my story or not?” 

“No, I want to, I do. You were praying in your meeting house in America and then -- what? A dark shadow fell upon you and promised you eternal life for a kiss?” 

“Eternal night for a kiss, you mean,” Rankin said moodly, looking out to the dark blur of the world outside his train window. 

“What was he like, your maker?” Neil rested his hand on his face. “Not like Delaney, I think.” 

“Oh no, not like him. He was, I think, something of a Devil. He did not want to turn me, he was not looking for me. He was looking for my father.” 

“Your father!” 

“Yes, my father,” Rankin said, looking grimly amused. “As it turned out, my father was a fairly well-known warlock in that part of the world. Some years later, when Salem -- a hundred miles from our little township -- would be wracked by accusations of witchcraft, there were no such accusations levied at him, though he had cursed far many more than those powerless women who were hung for witchcraft then. 

But such people have powerful enemies and that was the same for my father. I hardly realized what was happening when I was bitten. I cried out, thinking it was a bat that did it -- but as I tried to push it away, fur and leather became wool and hair, until I was bewilderingly caught up in the arms of some dark gentleman who looked at me with burning red eyes. 

No, he was not like your simpering Delaney at all. More like beast that was only incidentally the shape of a man. 

As I was about to scream, he pressed one, thin finger, as brittle as a branch, against my mouth. A thought was put into my head that if I made a single sound, I would never see the light of the sun again. I did not scream. He drained me dry and when I was about to expire, he pressed his fingers again to my mouth. They were dripping with blood now and delirious with terror, I drank. 

Afterwards, I found myself sprawled on the floor of the meeting house, the morning sun burning my skin. When I was able to raise myself up, I saw the familiar figure of my father, the reverend standing at the door. 

‘Approximate,’ he said, ‘you have failed your final and most direful test. You are no longer my son.’ 

I begged him to explain what had happened to me, but he would say nothing further, only that if I returned home, he would be forced to kill me. So I left the township and then the colony entirely.

As for my sire -- he was one of my father’s enemies, who thought the best way to cripple him was to turn his only son into a monster. But more fool him -- my father did not care for me so very much that my death hurt him at all. I think that creature found his doom soon after turning me, for I have never felt that tug of ownership that some people have for their sires.” 

“If anyone was your sire, than it was your father,” Neil said suddenly. Rankin’s eyes flared with anger, but after a moment, he gave a stiff nod. 

“My gutless coward of a father sacrificed me to some dark thing and called it good. If the Devil did exist, it would be him and no other.” 

Neil leaned forward and said, eagerly, “Do you wish that you could go back and kill him, your father? Or did you do exactly that?” 

“Do you plan to kill your own father, Neil?” 

“No. Of course not,” Neil said quickly “ Why do you say that?” 

“John Euston saw you remove something from the Ashton family plot. Of course, he had no idea what you could be doing -- he thought it was a mark of sentimentality on your part. But we should know better, should we not?” 

Neil looked away. “I am very grateful for my father. He is very good to me, now.” 

“Does he still take your blood? Have you felt any … effects of it?” 

Neil hesitated for a moment and shook his head. “He has stopped asking for it now. I think the task he wished to do with it is now complete.” 

“What was it?” Rankin’s eyes narrowed. “You know, there are strong rumors that Lord Ashton is planning to reveal something … controversial at his masquerade. He has been withdrawing more and more from council business, only communicating through proxies and letters. Indeed, no one has actually seen him in more than three years. One would doubt that he was still with us, except -- well, you are still here.” 

“Indeed. My father is still very much -- well, I cannot say alive. Active, shall we say? It’s true that he’s withdrawn from me as well, but we still -- speak. Because he has my blood, we do not need to do it face-to-face.” 

“It is weakening you. A vampire should not be taking another’s blood, there are no records of such a thing, except for the darkest and most obscure histories that I could find. If he is not careful, such activities could lead to -- death. And I do mean the ultimate and final death, Neil.”

“Mm. Interesting. Speaking of a true death, how did your father die?” 

“Well, first he lived for a healthy old age and died one day as he was pasturing some cattle on his neighbor’s land -- which he claimed was his. His body was exposed to the elements for days, but they were able to identify him by the embroidery on his cloak. Apparently the ravens had been at his eyes and the soft parts of his face.” 

“That’s horrid.” 

“That’s nature.” 

They lapsed into a long silence as Neil tried to recover his composure. He watched Rankin with the corner of his eye before he spoke again. “My father … he thinks I will betray him because Delaney has come back, and he has sent you to me to make sure I will not.” 

“The council does not give me such assignments anymore. I am not trusted.”

“Not the council. My father.” 

Rankin smiled. “He will be pleased by your assurances of love and loyalty.” 

“Well, it’s sincere, at least.” Neil considered for a moment and said, “Rankin, this will sound very terrible but I suppose all this means that … Perhaps your father was right. Your place in Heaven wasn’t assured after all, was it? But even so -- was it really that terrible? You have seen so much in your time. Can’t that be better than dying when you were supposed to and going to Heaven?”

“Naive idiot, you’re not talking about me, but yourself,” said Rankin with a scowl.

“Perhaps, but I am also talking about you,” Neil said sincerely.

“I want to throw you out of this train, but I won’t,” Rankin said with a sour smile. “Even if the fear of never going to Heaven has deserted me, I at least have some sympathy for the poor devil who would have to clean your carcass from the rails.” 

Neil whistled at the venom in Rankin’s words, and did not doubt the sincerity of every word. 

*

It was almost dawn when the train reached the station. John Euston, newly rested, offered to accompany him home.

“No need,” Neil told him with a smile. “I’m going to walk a little before I go home.”

“Are you sure?” John said doubtfully. “It’s almost dawn.”

“I’ll be quick, it won’t take long.”

Neil walked into the churning crowd outside to the train station. It was filled mostly with laborers getting ready for the hard day ahead. He slipped past them, walking deeper into the warren of streets until he found his quarry. A gentleman, still quite drunk from his revels, emerged from one of the shaded doorways and walked unsteadily into the wan light of the early morning.

Neil picked up his pace and took the gentleman’s arm. He looked over, startled, but relaxed momentarily when he saw who it was. 

“Why are you out so early — or should I say late, George?” Neil said cordially. “You’ll be the target of every cutpurse in the neighborhood.”

“Oh, it’s too late to try with me,” said George, frowning for he clearly couldn’t remember who his solicitous companion was, though he felt as though he _ought _to know.

“Your pocketbook gone already? Your watch too? Poor George.”

“It’s been a rough night,” George said, trying to take off his hat before he realized he didn’t have it on. 

“Well, it’s almost morning, now,” Neil said with a smile. He took hold of George, leading him into a small alleyway. George went with him willingly enough, smiling a little at Neil. 

“I _don’t_ know you, do I?” 

Neil shook his head and pressed him against the wall. “Bend down a little.” 

When George obliged him, Neil bit down on his neck. The rush of blood, hot and living, filled his mouth. It was immediately intoxicating -- for both of them. Neil had not yet met a human who fought against him once they were bitten. They _must_ be in pain, and yet -- 

It would be so easy to kill him. So easy and so quick. Everything would come to an end and Neil would be satisfied. He was so hungry, even as the blood filled his mouth. He swallowed and thought of snuffing out this waveting life and drinking his fill. The temptation was unbearable, he wanted so much to give in -- 

Neil pushed himself roughly away from George, who slid down the rough brick wall. He was panting and his eyes had already begun to clear. “W-what’s happening? What _are_ you?” 

“Don’t worry,” Neil said, wiping the blood from his mouth with George’s handkerchief, making sure his hand wasn’t shaking. It wouldn’t matter to George, but it mattered to him. He was so glad that he hadn’t lost control. Again. “You’ll be all right and you’ll forget.” 

He had been harsh with Delaney about abusing his powers of suggestion, but Neil had to admit that he could not have let his victims live if he did not use such powers himself. He left the still-befuddled George in the alley and caught a cab home, drawing in the grubby curtains against the burgeoning daylight. 

Neil was a hypocrite, but he was almost happy with it.

*

“You cut it _very_ close, Neil,” said his father reproachfully, his voice echoing off the empty halls of the house and reverberating in Neil’s mind. Neil bent down and smelled the lush, red roses that graced the front entrance. They had been grown in the greenhouse on the grounds -- a place that he considered his haven nowadays. At night, the greenhouse would be lit up with electric lights, giving everything the lurid approximation of daylight. 

“I was only a little singed, Father. You don’t have to worry about me.” Neil spoke aloud, but he didn’t look around for Lord Ashton. Though they had shared the same home for many years now, Neil hadn’t actually laid eyes on his father in at least four or five years. Their lessons had stopped by then -- Neil’s studies were now mostly self-directed, though John was always available to help him. Now that Neil was comfortably sure that he did have -- if not forever, then quite a long time -- to learn whatever he wanted, he realized that there was no real urgency in the matter. He could always be a student of humanity, if he wished. 

His father supported him in his ventures, but Lord Ashton always had his own projects to attend to. It wasn’t as if Neil was a child -- he certainly didn’t need constant supervision from his father. And he wouldn’t have welcomed it either. Still, the fact that he hadn’t come face-to-face with Lord Ashton for so long made it obvious that Neil was being avoided. 

And yet he still could not leave this place. 

“Are you looking forward to the masquerade?” Lord Ashton asked him, his voice settling into Neil’s ear. Neil tilted his head and considered it. He had been acting as the host for most of his father’s salons and parties for the last few years, but for the masquerade would mark his father’s triumphant return to the social scene. 

“I like a good party,” Neil said carefully. “And this certainly will be a good one.” 

“I’m so pleased, Neil.” Lord Ashton’s voice faded away and Neil was left alone. Such was his loneliness that he missed his father’s voice. That was better than silence. 

*

The night of the masquerade was lovely and clear. People overran Lord Ashton’s house and the ballroom, many that Neil did not recognize. He was stationed at the door of the ballroom, greeting the attendants one by one. He was standing in the place of his father, who had yet to make an entrance. 

Most of the party-goers were vampires, but there were also humans who clung to them with besotted expressions. Neil couldn’t help but wonder at these humans’ ultimate fates, but at least the invitation for the masquerade had strictly forbidden any drinking, other than wine… 

He hoped, rather than expected, for adherence to that request. 

“Neil! You are looking very smart,” said John Euston as he arrived with the exasperated Rankin. Neil bowed at the compliment. He was dressed in a black tailcoat and white shirt, but he supposed his hair slicked back and the diamond pinned at his chest also improved things. 

“Will you save me a dance?” he asked John, who promised him that he would before he was spirited away by another guest. It was not particularly unusual for men to dance with other men, and women with other women, in vampire balls. It was a custom of longstanding and rarely questioned. 

Rankin stalked in, dressed exactly as he always was -- he gave no concessions to the party atmosphere. They greeted each other uneasily, Rankin because unease was his natural state, and Neil because of guilt. He felt that perhaps he had not acted rightly to the news of Rankin’s story. This feeling had persisted long enough for Neil to write to Rankin, apologizing for his unfeeling reactions, but Rankin had written back shortly to tell him he didn’t care, but -- 

“Well, Rankin,” Neil said. “Will you dance tonight?” 

“I might,” Rankin said. “Though I never learned how.” 

“I feel like I should be shocked that you might,” Neil said teasingly and Rankin rolled his eyes. “Well, will you dance with me tonight?” 

“We’ll see,” Rankin said and moved on with a proud tilt to his head. 

Next came the excellent Mrs. Amberson, who embraced Neil with the extravagant fondness of a distant aunt who planned to ask one a favor later on. She complimented him on his haircut and remarked that it was daring of him to get one, as his hair grew the same rate as a corpse’s. 

“Anyway! Have you met Sarah Chaplin, my newest ingenue?” Mrs. Amberson said, presenting a handsome young woman with a set of dark and challenging features. The young woman quickly took in Neil with a sweep of her cool grey eyes before dismissing him with a half-smile. 

“Matilda, please don’t call me an ingenue,” said Sarah. “It makes me feel quite wretched as I am approaching thirty.” 

“ I am sorry, Sarah. But it does delight me so,” replied Mrs. Amberson with a toothy smile. The two of them drifted off together, deep in flirtatious talk. 

Neil glanced out to see if there were more people he had to greet. The door seemed quite deserted of new arrivals. He was about to move on himself when he saw one last arrival come through the door. She was a tall and dramatically beautiful lady, who had taken the concept of a masquerade more seriously than most. Her face was covered by a black velvet mask that hid everything but her eyes, which were a brilliant and penetrating grey. Her dress was crimson, daringly free of sleeves, though a pair of long, black gloves almost excused it. 

Her long dark hair was pulled back with a cornet of rubies. Neil looked at the new guest dumbly for a moment before he stepped forward and said, breathlessly, “Delaney, what are you doing here?” 

A slim finger pressed against Neil’s mouth. “You ought to call me Arathia, my dear.” 

Neil scowled. “I don’t know how you even entered the place. The spells should’ve kept you out.” 

“Well, you don’t get to be as old as I am without learning a few tricks,” said Delaney with a soft, husky voice that Neil had to admit, he rather liked. If Delaney wasn’t willing to drop the charade, then Neil would go along with it. He asked Delaney if he would like to dance, Delaney accepted with a sly murmur. 

So Neil took Delaney’s hand and they made their way to the dance floor, where a waltz was starting. 

Neil led, though their difference in height caused them to attract some attention from the other guests. But that hardly mattered -- they danced several dances in silence, eyes hardly leaving each other. There was so much to say and so little time or privacy to speak. 

“You’ve been -- traveling?” Neil murmured, casting his eyes down. He had to dance on his tip-toes to keep up with Delaney. 

“Yes,” Delaney said. “I went to see if I could find my birthplace, but all has changed so utterly that it was useless. The location of my mother’s tomb is now an old Tuscan palace that had also been abandoned. I was quite melancholy about it for the longest time.” 

“It isn’t like you to look backwards like that,” Neil observed. “What prompted you to go?”

“True enough, I’m quite removed from history. Perhaps I thought it would engender sympathy from you?” Delaney gave him a brilliant smile and despite himself, Neil smiled back. 

“You didn’t need to go to Italy to do that.” 

“So I see. Well, how have you been, Neil? You feel different than before.” 

“I am different,” Neil replied. “Just the other day, I -- Well, I persuaded a man to let me drink his blood. It was a thing that I judged you so harshly for, but when I did it …” 

“Sometimes it is a_ need_,” Delaney said, as Neil carefully spun him around. Their last waltz was ending soon and both of them had other partners waiting. “You didn’t kill him?” 

“No, I can drink without killing now,” Neil said. “Mostly.” 

“Very good, Neil. I could not be prouder of you.” 

“You don’t need to flatter me.” 

“My dear, I would work much harder if I wanted to flatter you,” Delaney replied. The waltz ended and they separated. 

But even as Neil danced with other partners, his thoughts always turned back to Delaney. He tried not to seem preoccupied, but his partners weren’t fooled. 

“Who in the world is that?” John Euston said, as Neil’s gaze drifted for the second or third time over at Delaney’s direction. Delaney was speaking seriously to Rankin, and took out a fan and fluttered it to make a point. 

“Arathia,” Neil replied. “A very ancient vampire. She’s Delaney’s maker, I believe.” 

“Oh, so a bit like your grandmother. I wouldn’t look at her like_ that_, then, Neil.” 

“Oh God, no,” Neil muttered. All was lost if even John noticed his preoccupation. 

Their waltz ended and he sprinted off to get Delaney. “Come with me,” he said and Delaney smiled and nodded. Neil led him out from the mad press of people and into the cool quiet of the garden. The greenhouse was already brightly lit and that was where they ended up. 

“I’m very fond of growing roses now,” Neil said, indicating the white rose bush he was especially proud of. The smell of it was divine. 

“Neil, will you let me kiss you?” Delaney asked him, his voice husky and incredibly tender.

“Yes,” Neil said softly. “And more besides. I’ve missed you, Delaney.” 

Neil took off Delaney’s mask and admired him. He was so beautiful -- it was difficult as always to think clearly when he was around Delaney. 

There was a red gleam in Delaney’s clear eyes and his red mouth descended onto Neil’s, drawing forth a kiss that was as powerful as it was devastating. Neil found himself pulling down Delaney’s dress to his collarbone and then further down. If Delaney had any decollage to speak of, it would have been absolutely scandalous. As it was, it was still quite wicked. 

They were leaning on the heavy wooden table that Neil usually used to work on his gardening projects. Remembering the dirt on it, he tried to turn them around so Delaney’s dress wouldn’t be mussed, but instead he found himself lifted and placed on the tabletop.

Conspiratorially, Neil said, “You know, everyone can see us — the lights are on and the walls are glass.”

“Do you mind it?” Delaney asked him, tracing a finger across Neil’s lips with his thumb. Neil smiled.

“Not at all.” 

They kissed again, allowing themselves to feel more intensely the depth of their separation and how good it felt to be back together. 

Then, the church bell rang, it was a quarter til midnight. Neil remembered himself and reluctantly untangled himself from Delaney’s arms. With a sigh, he said,“We should go back to the ball. My father’s due to make an announcement. He’s strongly implied that after which I will no longer be obliged to him.” 

Delaney’s misgivings showed on his face. “Well. Help me get right, would you?” 

“Of course,” Neil replied. As he was setting Delaney to rights, he realized that the stone he had taken from the Ashton family plot was still secreted in the flowerpot of his favorite rose. Almost without thinking about it, he put it into his pocket. 

As he was buttoning up Delaney’s dress, he gave into the impulse and kissed the back of his neck. “You are truly beautiful in whatever you wear and are.” 

“I have tried to take to heart what you told me before we parted,” Delaney said, taking Neil’s hand as they left the hothouse and walked slowly out into the moonlit garden. “I am trying to be more … human.”

“Is it hard?” 

“It is exceedingly difficult,” Delaney said. “As you are starting to learn.” 

“You must know by now that I’m as big a hypocrite as any,” Neil said ruefully. 

“I don’t mind that,” Delaney assured him. “If you are willing to go, will you come with me? I’m going abroad again -- perhaps we can spend the new century in a new place?” 

“Aren’t you worried? I’m still in my first century. I could still go mad, you know.” 

“Sometimes, that’s what you need to do.” 

“You’re still quite immoral, I see,” Neil said, smiling. Delaney kissed his hand. 

“Oh, how charming!” said a familiar voice from the gloom. Mrs. Amberson and her companion walked out from behind a hedge. “Were you admiring the moonlit garden as we were?” 

“Of course,” Delaney said. “What else could one do out here?” 

Mrs. Amberson said, “You’re looking much better than the last time I last saw you, Delaney.” 

“I am feeling much better,” Delaney replied. “It is a pleasure to see you, Mrs. Amberson. And who is your lovely companion?” 

“I’m Sarah Chaplin, and you needn’t try to charm me. I am intensely aware of being the only living person in this garden right now.” Sarah heaved a great sigh, as to demonstrate this. She dressed in direct contrast to Mrs. Amberson’s elaborate medieval gown. If Neil had to guess, he would have thought Sarah was dressed a nun. 

“You mustn’t worry,” Neil assured her. “If anyone looks at you with hungry eyes, please let me know and I will discipline them.” 

“You, my dearest Sarah, will be no one’s meal,” Mrs. Amberson said comfortably. Her dark eyes now landed on Delaney again. She smiled impishly. “You know, I was once a lady-in-waiting for Henriette of England, whose husband was also fond of attending balls in the height of lady’s fashions. I remember one time, both Monsieur and Madame were romanced by the same bold count -- it did not end well for any of them.” 

“I have noticed that any vampire one speaks to, they are always a noble or royalty or some special person. I have never met a vampire who used to be -- ordinary,” said Sarah. 

Mrs. Amberson laughed. “It because once you are sufficiently ancient, all stories are possible, my dear.” 

“Now you have met me,” Neil said. “I was nothing before I died -- an urchin on the street.” 

“And I was just pretty,” Delaney said, taking out his fan and fluttering it against his chest. “That is what vampires mostly select for, rather than quality, I’m afraid.” 

*

The ballroom was crowded by the time the four of them had come back, packed tight with guests eager to hear Lord Ashton’s announcement. Neil explained to Delaney that his father had largely withdrawn from public (and private) life since the turn of the century, and tonight marked his grand re-entrance. 

“What do you think he did?” Delaney asked worriedly. 

“I’m not sure, but if I’m no longer needed …” 

There was some stir at the grand stairway to the ballroom and the way was cleared. Lord Ashton had arrived. He was dressed in the requisite black tailcoat, all correct, all perfect. His mask covered most of his face, but his hair was darker than it had been before. “Good evening, my dearest ladies and gentlemen! I welcome you to my home and hope sincerely that --” 

“Good Lord,” Rankin said, coming up behind Neil. “Has your father taken to dyeing his hair? It looks most disagreeable.” Then, reproachfully, he said to Neil, “You owe me a dance.” 

“What’s this?” Delaney asked. “You two are on dancing partner terms now? I have missed much.” 

“Don’t look so smug,” Rankin said. “You took a stupid risk coming here tonight.” 

“I knew Ashton had thrown his gates open wide,” Delaney said carelessly. “As many as possible to witness his grand transformation.” 

“Hush,” Neil said, feeling strangely weak. He leaned against Delaney for a moment. “He’s coming to the point.” 

“... And I wanted you all to witness what can only be termed a _miracle_. It could not have been done without the help of my dearest son, Neil, who was returned to me so recently -- I am grateful to him and his sacrifices.” 

Lord Ashton removed his mask and basked in the scrutiny of the crowd. He looked quite different than he had the last time Neil had seen him -- in some ways, he was quite the new man. When once his hair had been snow-white, it was now a deep, burnished gold. Even from across the ballroom, Neil could see the curves and tightness of his face, the youthful beauty restored. He looked as if he had been painted by Raphael -- and his eyes were trained on Neil. His smile was faintly cruel. 

“Oh,” Sarah said, surprised. “I knew that he was your father, Neil. But I didn’t expect him to look so … _ young_?” 

“He isn’t,” Rankin said sharply as Neil collapsed. He felt his whole body shudder. Delaney was on the ground with him, his dress providing some cushion to the marble floor. Rankin stooped down as well, a dark shadow in Neil’s vision among the crush of crimson silk. 

“Neil!” Delaney said, putting a hand on Neil’s flushed cheeks. “Hold on -- do not die, _do not give up. _Can you hear me?” 

Neil felt as if his entire body was on fire. He thought he heard Rankin muttering last rites for him and felt obscurely grateful. He knew what his father had done and why he had required the payment of Neil’s blood for so long. It was a cruel magic Lord Ashton had done, based on blood and family and the deepest envy. 

He had stolen Neil’s immortality and now he was flourishing -- Neil was dead, in all ways but one. He looked out on the circle of concerned faces around him -- Delaney’s creased in despair, Rankin looking angry and afraid, Mrs. Amberson as if she was witnessing something truly novel, and Sarah, with confusion. 

“I’m sorry,” Neil said -- and died. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the penultimate chapter of Forever Young! I'm so excited to finish this thing, you don't even know. I'm literally chortling over the very last touches of everything. Thank you for reading this far, and I hope to see you next month. Thanks again to Sath for betaing. 
> 
> I spent some time watching [waltzing videos](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gt0h32r_A1o) on Youtube, which are a delight. However, the chapter title is from [The Legend of 1900](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jk5xoCJ6JcU), which was one of my favorite movies when I was younger. Tim Roth is amazing. 
> 
> I'm kind of obsessed with greenhouses / hothouses / conservatories! This [site has good information about it.](https://www.oldhouseonline.com/gardens-and-exteriors/classic-greenhouses-and-conservatories)
> 
> And briefly, [the life and times of Philippe d'Orleans](http://partylike1660.com/tag/philippe-dorleans/) and [Edwardian men's formal wear](https://vintagedancer.com/1900s/edwardian-titanic-mens-formal/) and [annoying English people fucking around in Italy: a novel by E.M. Forster](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Where_Angels_Fear_to_Tread). (Not the one you're thinking of though!)


	8. burned by the cold kiss of a vampire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Wouldn’t it be marvelous if you, as an old man, would stake me before you died? We would perish together. It would be the height of romance."_
> 
> The boy is back, but not for long.

Vampires fear nothing more than a death that_ stayed_. So they stole life from others to avoid that, the last and final death. Neil had always feared death too, because he felt that he had never had a chance to really live. But then he met Delaney, and his calculations had changed. 

Delaney had tricked him, played with him, and lied to him. None of that could be denied. The truth of it all was always plain to see. But Delaney had also loved Neil and cared for him and showed him a kind of life that wasn’t just a struggle unto death. It wasn’t that Delaney was the only person to care for Neil — his mother had, Father Bryce had, Mrs. Carew had — but he had made a difference that no one else had. 

Neil had worn fine clothes for the first time. He had seen a play. He had slept on a comfortable bed. He had made friends and enemies. He had confronted the secrets of his past. He had lived, truly lived, for the first time after his death.

And then it ended. 

Then, he was truly dead. 

He was nothing. And nothing could come from nothing. Death was nothing, an end without thought or pain. 

So when Neil awoke with a jerk, he knew that something had changed, something had happened to _him_. That there was once again a him for things to happen to. He existed again. And he was — somewhere.

It was a close, dark space that he knew immediately to be a coffin. His fingers moved against the satin of the cover almost meditatively. It felt damp against his hand — the graveyard mould was leaching in, it seemed. 

It took him longer than it should have to realize he was running out of air — because he was breaking. He was _alive_. 

And if he did not get out of this coffin, he soon would be dead again and go back to being nothing.

It would do no good to panic or scream. Given the damp insides of his coffin, it seemed he had been here a good long while. It was doubtful that anyone would particularly mark the sound of muffled screams coming from an old grave. And to think he had always thought those who feared being buried alive were being silly… 

He felt around, looking for some weakness in the coffin itself, trying not to breath too much. At last, he found it — a soft corner on his left hand side. He used the buckle of his belt to scrape against it until finally — at last — a panel broke loose and heavy, wet dirt tumbled into his coffin. 

Neil worked without thinking of his present circumstances. His first concern was survival. He would ponder the circumstances of his apparent resurrection later. He had never been given time to think about the things that happened to him. He was always trapped, reacting and then moving on. No wonder he had felt mad at the end. 

Had he felt mad at the end? He thought, perhaps, he’d been happy just before. He’d seen … Neil’s mind was blank as he spied the ground falling away and the sky opening up above him. As he pushed his way out of the grave, he took a large, gasping breath. The sun warmed his face and Neil thought, dazed, that he had been reborn indeed.

He recognized where he was, of course. The graveyard of Saint Catherine’s hadn’t changed much since he had left it, except that just beyond its ancient walls, he saw that the neighborhood surrounding it had. It was like someone had taken a broad white brush and cleared away the dirt and age from everything, leaving stark cleanness behind, like bones picked clean. 

“How long have I been dead?” Neil asked himself as he pulled himself completely out of his grave. It _was_ his grave, wasn’t it? He looked to the gravestone and saw his name printed on the marble slab, along with the dates of his birth and then the date of his father’s awful masquerade. BELOVED, it said under his name. Neil would have rolled his eyes if his face wasn’t stiff with dirt and mud. 

He was sure that was Delaney’s idea. Who else would think of him as anything _beloved_? 

Neil’s legs screamed at him when he tried to rise, but after a few false starts, he rose and staggered for the church door. He wondered why there seemed to be no one about, either on the street outside the church or in the yard. 

But then he heard snatches of conversations floating in from the church, echoing against the honey-colored walls and was glad of it. He was not the only person in this world, then. 

He walked into the church and made his way to the font, and tried to clean his face and his hands, albeit with considerable guilt. His suit, though obviously fine when he had been buried, now was ragged and his collar was streaked with dirt. His hands turned the water muddy, but at last, he felt himself to be presentable enough to go further into the church. 

There were people sitting in the pews, and when he entered, he could feel the weight of their stares on him. He looked at them, but could not quite place them. There were men and women sitting at either side of the aisle, and their faces were expressionless, for the most part. 

When Neil came to the front pew -- the only one that didn’t have anyone sitting there -- he slid in and bent his head, closed his eyes, with his hands clasped and tried to pray. He could not. The words refused to come.

He clutched at his head, but not a single prayer remained in his head.

“What troubles you, my child?” asked a familiar voice. 

Neil opened his eyes and looked up to see Father Bryce looking down at him, a gentle smile on his face. 

“Am I in Heaven?” Neil asked in wonder, his troubles forgotten. He looked around, filled with wild hope. “Is my mother here?” 

Father Bryce shook his head gravely. “This isn’t Heaven, Neil. Shall we talk?” 

Neil rose from the pew, alarmed. Someone behind him grabbed at his arm. It was the boy Ewan -- the boy he had murdered with Samuel so long ago. The second person he’d killed. He seemed whole and healthy and his grip was strong. He said, “Stay with us a little while, Neil.” 

Neil looked over at the people in the pews, all who were looking at him. They stared back at him, impassive. 

“Have I killed all of you?” he asked with soft wonder. 

“You didn’t see our faces,” said one, a greying woman who was dressed in black. “But the blood you drank had to come from somewhere, didn’t it, sir?” 

“Yes,” Neil said slowly. He sat down again. Ewan came around and sat with him on one side, and Father Bryce on the other. 

The silence stretched on between them before Neil burst out. “I am sorry for what I did to you, and I know my sorrow does no good! You were kind to me, Father Bryce, and I did not spare you… And you, poor Ewan -- you were just a stranger to me. I ended both your lives. I deserve to be in Hell.” 

“This isn’t Hell either, nor Purgatory,” Father Bryce told him gently. He touched Neil’s cheek. “You’re weeping, Neil. Did you notice?” 

He hadn’t. Neil felt around in his pockets until he found a handkerchief, still faintly scented with Delaney’s perfume. He dabbed his eyes and looked up. The stained glass of Saint Catherine’s had always been a source of wonder to him, though they were nothing in comparison to the grand cathedrals in the country. But just to see the jewel-like colors had always comforted him, and the faces of the long-dead parishioners were interesting to observe at least. Had their money bought them a place in Heaven, as well as a place in the church? 

Not that Neil would know -- if this place was not Heaven, Hell or Purgatory, where was it?

“Are all of you trapped here because I killed you?” Neil asked Ewan, who tilted his head a little, as if to think. 

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “Everything went black when I died and then I was somewhere else. And now I’m here, talking to you.” 

“I don’t think we are truly here,” said Father Bryce helpfully. “Surely we are not such slaves to your actions, Neil, that we would be trapped in this netherworld until you come to us. It would not be fair.” 

“Of course not,” Neil said hastily. “You have souls of your own. I cannot keep you.” 

“Your guilt, however, can keep you here forever,” Ewan told him. “Look -- the others are fading.” 

Neil turned around and saw that Ewan was correct. The last pew was empty, and the ones further up were thinning out. “Where are they going now?” 

“Their own journey, I suppose,” Father Bryce said, folding his hands together and resting them on his stomach. “I had my regrets too, you know. I wish I had gone against my superior’s advice and adopted you when your mother died. I was not an adequate guardian to you, Neil. I am sorry.” 

“I never blamed you,” Neil assured him. 

“Didn’t you?” Father Bryce said. “I was the first person you killed.” 

“Because you were _there_,” Neil replied, irritated. “If it had been anyone else, they would be here instead of you.” 

“Do you really think so? Well, I believe in fate,” said Father Bryce. “I was there because it was my fate to die, you were there because it was your fate to kill me.” 

“Is there no hope in escaping fate?” Neil asked despairingly. “Why do people live if fate is so cruel and inescapable?” 

“Don’t know,” Ewan said. “Maybe people who haven’t been murdered are more optimistic?” 

Neil blinked at him and then smiled, despite himself. “You are a wit. What fate brought you to that field anyway?”

“I don’t remember,” Ewan replied. “I was there making time. No one saw value in me. Perhaps like you, before.”

Neil wanted to embrace him and ask again for his forgiveness, but feared that such actions would come too late and ask too much. So, he swallowed and said, “I’m glad that you see a common thread between us -- I see it too. May I embrace you as a brother would?” 

“If you must,” Ewan replied, and so Neil did. Everyone else in the church had faded away, leaving only Neil, Ewan and Father Bryce. 

Ewan slipped from Neil’s grasp and saluted him with a faint smile. 

“Goodbye for now,” he said and then disappeared.

Father Bryce rose from the pew and said, “I wish I could tell you something wise and comforting, my dear boy. Something that you can take with you on your journey. But in lieu of that, know that you have my love and forgiveness. May God bless you!” 

He kissed the top of Neil’s head and went away, taking everything with him. Neil was alone in the dark, waiting. 

He no longer felt any trepidation for what may follow. He thought he could accept any fate, as long he no longer had an option to doubt himself, or better yet, the opportunity for oblivion. 

He closed his eyes and thought, at last of Delaney and how, after all of that, he forgave him. 

“I hope you think of me sometimes,” he said aloud to the emptiness. He did not think his words would reach Delaney, but it was enough to say them aloud. 

The darkness surrounded him, Neil felt himself falling. He tried to prepare himself. Now, he thought. Now was the end of all things. He would go to Hell, as he deserved and everything would come to an end. 

*

He fell into a dark, enclosed space and it took some time for him to realize it was far too cool to be Hell. He was in a crypt. It was dark there and he could smell wet earth and old, stale air. The space was dominated by a tomb, with a marble statue of a woman lying odalisque on top. Her expression was one of ironic contentment. From the dust and spider webs all around, it seemed that no one had been here for many years.

A slow scratching sound was coming from the tomb. Neil approached it carefully, wary of the faint sound. It sounded like someone was running a fingernail under the stone. Someone was inside that tomb -- and he had a dreadful suspicion that he knew exactly who it was. 

It took some time to push the cover away enough to reveal a dead-white face looking out at him, with eyes blinking rapidly. Delaney’s mouth was full of rocks and he couldn’t escape, though he had been able to use his fingers to scratch against the cover of the tomb — the fingers had been worn down to stubs.

Neil assessed the scene for a moment before he reached out and plucked out the rocks from Delaney’s mouth and then pulled him to a sitting position. 

“I don’t know how that worked,” Neil said, almost to himself as Delaney -- or someone would, perhaps, one day become Delaney, clutched at his arm. 

“Who are you?” Delaney asked him and though he was clearly not speaking any language Neil could understand, Neil knew what he was saying. “Why have you saved me?” 

“I don’t know if any of this is real,” Neil muttered to himself. “Have I just doomed so many people by doing this? Or is it just a dream?” 

“I’m _so_ hungry,” Delaney said and Neil let him go. Suddenly, he could not understand what Delaney was saying, but his intent seemed clear enough. He was tearing towards Neil, who stepped back quickly. 

“Well, I’ll see you again -- maybe,” Neil said, as the darkness came again, wrapping itself around him eagerly. 

Delaney cried out and reached for him and their fingertips grazed each other. “Please don’t leave me!” 

But it was too late. 

Time righted itself and resumed. 

*

When Neil opened his eyes again, he was back in Saint Catherine’s and the air was full of dust and smoke. He was still sitting on the first pew, but around him were chunks of rubble and when he looked up, he was startled to see the clear night, with all the stars, staring down at him. A cold breeze came through, but did nothing to lift the shock of the moment. 

The stained glass had been blown out and there was rubble strewn over everything. The reason Neil could see the sky was because the church had been almost utterly destroyed — only the walls remained.

He sprang up — plaster and dust falling from his hair and shoulders — and climbed over the rubble and made his way to the entrance. The graveyard was also devastated, the gravestones -- including his -- were knocked flat and thrown about. 

Was he still in the dreamworld? No, he thought not. There were sounds all around him, the sound of people and alarms.The buildings looked older and more careworn. There were people about, seeing what had happened to the church. A man rushed towards Neil and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Were you in the church when it was hit? Good God man, how _are _you still walking?” 

“What time is it?” Neil said. There were automobiles parked at the bottom of the hill, but nothing like the kind he was used to. Stuck on the sides of houses and businesses, he could see strange aerials and wires. He looked at the man and said earnestly, “Does _everyone_ have electricity now?” 

The man shook his head sadly. “A direct hit, I see.” 

“I’m not hurt,” Neil said, bristling, trying to push him aside. 

“At least go to the nurse’s station on the high street and get a cup of tea,” advised the man, letting Neil go. Neil stumbled down the stairs to the street below and looked out into a new world. How long had he been dead? Ten years? Thirty? Seventy? 

In the confusion of the nurse’s station -- he saw that more than Saint Catherine’s had been bombed -- Neil snatched away a newspaper and read it, looking at the date. He had been dead for thirty-six years and the whole world had torn itself apart. He crumpled the paper in his hands, feeling lost. 

He needed to find someone familiar and dear -- he felt a familiar throb of anxiety and love rising with him. It was startling because he still felt his heart beating, his blood rushing through his body. He was _alive_. He was alive and he had been dead and now he was misplaced in time. 

The only common thread he could find in all the confusion was Delaney. Neil _had_ to find him. Everything else would come later. 

*

The world may have changed drastically in the years since Neil’s demise, but one thing hadn’t -- it was still quite easy to commit crimes. Neil robbed a man of his overcoat on the grounds that otherwise he, covered head to toe in dust and graveyard dirt, would attract undue attention. The man whose overcoat he took was angry and contemptuous, but didn’t struggle with him. 

Afterwards, Neil was off again. He did not know why his instincts still led him to Delaney -- perhaps a little of his blood still lingered in his body? Whatever it was, their bond still held firm and Delaney was not far from him. Could he sense that Neil had returned? What would he do with such news? 

Would he be — happy? Or would he have forgotten Neil in the meantime?

*

Neil’s internal compass led somewhere in the city he had never been before. Or — if he had been, it had changed so thoroughly that it was impossible to recognize. 

The place was at the back of a bookstore that did not seem as though it saw much custom. The alleyway that led to the entrance was strewn with trash and boxes, and at the end there was a green-painted door with a brass slit to speak into.

Neil stayed hidden as he observed pairs of men or women seek entrance through the green door, whispering the password through the brass slit. Some were let in, some were not.

Neil’s hearing was sharp enough to catch the password. After waiting a few minutes, he slithered up to the door and said it — “The chrysalis devours the caterpillar.” He almost said it with a straight face — almost. The slab-like guard gave him an unkind look when he came in. “There’s a dress code, you know.”

“I was bombed,” Neil said shortly. He tried to brush the dust from his hair, but it was hardly worth it. 

“Haven’t we all been, once in a while,” said the guard. “No need to drop standards, however.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind for less trying times,” Neil replied. He walked into the den, scanning it for Delaney. He knew he was here, somewhere. His instincts had led him this far, and he did not doubt them. 

Finally, he saw him, half-hidden inside a booth. He was talking to someone intimately, but with him, looking bored, was Samuel. Neil approached them carefully. Samuel spotted him first and a look of incredulity overtook his features. 

Delaney was speaking. “... You’re a signals officer, are you? Well, what kind of signals do you see?” 

“Delaney,” Neil said, raising his voice. “You’ve changed your hair.”

Delaney looked up, saw him and stood. “Please leave,” he told the signals officer, who did so with a considerable amount of confusion. Then Delaney’s attention went back to Neil. “Won’t you sit down with us, sir?”

“Sir?” Neil said, sliding into the seat next to Delaney. “Have you forgotten me already?”

“Is he a ghoul? But ghouls don’t speak, do they?” Samuel said, eyeing Neil critically. Both he and Delaney were looking exceptionally well-turned out — there was nothing about their attire that would attract undue attention. Their hair had been cut disappointingly short and Neil wondered what had happened to have them both concede to modernity so.

Delaney said nothing. Instead, he reached out and touched Neil’s cheek. There were many emotions that played across his face. “When I woke tonight, I felt something had happened. I should have guessed it was you.” 

“It was a surprise for me too,” Neil said. He sighed and leaned back against the seat. “I — something happened to me.”

“Obviously,” Samuel said. “I was told by everyone that you were as dead as the nineteenth century, and yet here you are. And alive as well? Your audacity never fails to astound me.”

“You can tell?”

Samuel gave him a toothy smile. “Of course. We knew as soon as you came in. Could smell it, couldn’t we?” 

“Well. I supposed it is obvious,” Neil said stiffly. “I’ve been this way since I dug my way out of my grave and Saint Catherine’s was bombed.”

“Show-off,” Samuel muttered. Neil stared at him, trying to ignore the fact that Delaney was not-so-discreetly trying to see if he had returned in good condition. He was touching Neil’s hair and checking for a pulse, and cuts on his hands. Finally, Neil could stand it no longer. 

“What are you looking for?” he asked Delaney. Delaney, to his credit, did not deny anything. 

“When vampires rise again -- well, it’s not a common occurrence, Neil. And being alive is -- well, that never happens. Are you still … ill?” 

“No,” Neil said with conviction. He felt healthy and hale, a feeling he had never felt in his first life. He looked at his hands in wonder. “I wish I had come back taller. Perhaps with bluer eyes.” 

“Your eyes are blue enough for me,” Delaney said fervently. 

“Are you sure he’s not a ghoul? Rotting from the inside can take time,” Samuel said with a condescending smile. 

“Eat shit, Samuel. I’m not a ghoul,” Neil said. “I’m -- I’m not sure what I am, but I’m not that.” 

“Have you been eating corpses lately?” 

“No!,” Neil said. He did feel hungry, but it was a distant feeling, as if it was happening to someone else. He took Delaney’s hand and stroked it. “I’ve missed you. The world beyond this one is … strange.” 

Delaney leaned closer to him, his eyes bright. “There is something beyond this plane? I’ve always doubted it, but if you saw something…” 

“I think it was mostly a place built out of my guilt -- so it can’t be for everyone, I suppose. It wasn’t Heaven or Hell, and not even Purgatory. I was disappointed.” He laid his head on Delaney’s shoulder. “Can we go home?” 

Delaney pulled off his coat and draped it over Neil’s shoulders. “Of course, you’re always welcome wherever I am, Neil.” 

Samuel stirred in his seat. “Well, I’m not going back to that dank hole.” He watched a passing soldier with hooded eyes. “I’ll stay here.”

“So devoted to your duty,” Delaney said. “Rankin must appreciate your patriotism.”

“What’s happened to Rankin?” Neil asked, his voice muffled by the folds of Delaney’s coat. “Is he dead?”

“No. He’s joyfully serving the nation by eating as many Nazis as he can. As he should.”

“What are Nazis and why is it good to eat them?”Neil asked. 

Samuel sprang up and took his leave then, leaving Delaney to explain to Neil the current troubled state of the world. 

*

Neil had expected to return to Delaney’s home from all those years ago, but instead they arrived in a small flat, which was part of a Victorian mansion that had been split up years ago. Delaney, at Neil’s silent question, gave him a wry smile. “I’m afraid I made a few bad investments here and there … it’s not a problem, I will get the house back.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Neil said, leaning against him heavily. “Did you miss me, Delaney?”

Delaney looked at him earnestly. He took hold of Neil’s shoulders and examined him a little more closely. “Do you know, I have strange memories of you now. _New _memories that I’m sure were not there before. Where did you go, Neil?” 

“Somewhere strange and unknowable,” Neil replied. He felt impossibly tired, as if he could sleep for a thousand years. When Delaney opened the door to his flat, Neil walked in. He followed his lover into the bedroom and threw himself into the bed. It was narrow and the springs protested against his weight. 

When Delaney joined him, they pressed themselves together. It felt precious and wonderful and also unreal -- Neil wondered if he would wake up again in a different place, still dead, and still somewhere else. 

*

Delaney woke him up at midnight the next night and offered him a cup of blood. 

Neil stared at it for a moment -- wondering if his old, mindless hunger would return -- before he refused it. Delaney remembered himself and took the cup back, muttering to himself. 

“My landlady will be angry at me for ruining her teacups. She thinks I drink such odd, foreign teas,” he lamented, sipping the blood carefully. In the dim light, Neil could make out little pink flowers painted on the edge of the cup. He patted the spot on the bed beside him for Delaney to sit beside him on the bed. 

“You miss being a gentleman with his own establishment?” Neil asked, smiling. “I’m sure you never had to explain away odd stains before.” 

“Everything changes,” Delaney said sadly, settling in next to him. He seemed to relish Neil’s warmth, letting his cool fingers slide across Neil’s skin. “You need to eat something, my dear. You’re all skin and bones.” 

“Not tempting in the least. Isn’t that right?” 

“No,” Delaney said, his hand stopping. He seemed to withdraw into himself. Neil could see the extraordinary effort he was going through to appear casual. Neil leaned forward, curious. “You are still very tempting. Rest assured of that.” 

He tapped his fingers against his cheek. “It will be so interesting to have food in the house again. I’ve quite a lot of ration cards saved up.” 

“I’m sure I qualify for assistance -- I am quite elderly, after all. Sixty-four years old, in fact.” 

“You don’t look it,” Delaney told him. They shared a smile. 

“Speaking of the elderly who don’t look as if they are, what’s happened to my father?” Neil asked, straightening his spine. “You haven’t mentioned him, but I can’t believe he’s dead.” 

“A masterful transition,” Delaney said, clapping lightly. “He isn’t dead, as far as I know. He still attends council meetings from time to time, but mostly he’s unreachable. Are you angry that I haven’t killed him on your behalf? I did think about it. I really did, Neil. But killing him wouldn’t bring you back … Or so I thought.” 

“No, I don’t blame you … But I think I’ve returned to put an end to him,” Neil said earnestly. He thought about his meeting with Delaney in the tomb. Had he actually been sent there to put an end to_ Delaney?_ In that case, he had miserably failed at that. Delaney’s dead would fill up more than just churches -- cathedrals, whole towns. He shook his head, disturbed. 

Delaney seemed to understand the drift of his thoughts, however. “Revenge is an amusing enough pursuit, but in the long run, it empties one out. I remember when I tried to pursue my maker in the beginning. It ended in a stalemate.”

“Do you remember -- in the tomb …” Neil hesitated, reluctantly to say more. What if Delaney did not remember -- because it had never happened, because it was a dream?

“I do not remember … much of my first few centuries,” Delaney said carefully. “It was a time of horror for me. I think it will be the same for you, though I will say yours has been an exceptionally rough time. But I do remember a stranger in my mother’s tomb, who should not have been there. Someone who did not stay with me, though I begged him to.”

Neil rose from the bed and went over to the window, pushing back the thick curtain to look at the road below. It was darker than he would have expected, but Delaney told him about blackouts — otherwise they could suffer the same fate as Saint Catherine’s.

“I miss the past,” he said regretfully. “I wish I could go back again. I wish I hadn’t died. I was so happy that night, despite everything.”

“Neil,” Delaney said, coming over to him and pushing the curtain back into place. “You must learn to accept the passage of time. You will never go back — only forward.” 

He kissed Neil’s cheek and drew him into his arms. Neil accepted his caresses with a sigh. It felt good to have someone touch him after so long, and Delaney was so careful with him. Before, he would have protested it, but now -- it was all right. For now. 

“Would you drink from me?” he asked Delaney, who smiled at him with sharpened teeth. 

But then he shook his head and sighed deeply. “No, I won’t. You’ve gone through too much, Neil. You need your strength.”

“What if I wanted you to?” Neil asked him. “I’ve been feeling so odd and discontent ever since I came back — perhaps if you were to — well, sip from me, I would feel -- all right.” 

“You’ll feel better during the day. Imagine going out into the world then. I envy you.” 

Neil kissed him. “I’ll bring back the sunshine for you.” Then, he laughed, embarrassed at his words but Delaney was pleased and told him so.

*

Technically, Neil was a man who no longer existed. 

Delaney brought him a set of forged papers for a young man whose name was almost his, with a list of ailments that made it unlikely that he would be conscripted. Neil got work as a clerk at a warehouse and spent his evenings keeping Delaney and Samuel company until dawn. It felt odd, to be a human in the company of vampires. The stares he received never seemed to bode well, but he thought he would be equal to any danger he would fall into.

There was a certain novelty in being with Delaney, and living with him as ordinary lovers did. They saw each other at night — Neil was trying rather desperately to live by day, but he was used to the dark — and had meals together, sleep together. Delaney seemed to enjoy observing Neil’s meals more than Neil enjoyed eating them.

“What does it taste like, that apple?” he asked eagerly as Neil bit into it.

“A little mealy,” Neil said, tasting the winey tang of an apple that had lingered on too long. He nibbled at it absently. “But sweet enough.” 

“I’ve never had an apple,” Delaney said, slinking closer to him and nuzzling Neil’s neck. “Do you think your blood would taste like apples if you ate enough of it?”

“Would you like to try?” Neil asked, putting down the apple. 

Delaney pulled away, blinking. “No, I think not. I won’t drink from you, Neil, until you asked me to. When you want to be turned again — if you do.”

That was a question that had been bedeviling Neil since he had crawled out of his grave and realized he was alive, once again. Would he go back to the nocturnal life? The disadvantages seemed to outweigh the good — especially now that he knew what his continued survival led to. No, he had always known in the back of his mind. But now all he had to do was close his eyes and he would be back there — in a quiet church, filled with the dead.

“I don’t know if I could. If I should,” he said slowly. Delaney watched his face attentively, his eyes narrowed a little.

“You know that this body you have — it will grow and age. You will die again and have no hope of coming back.”

“Vampires usually do not come back either — after they’re staked.”

“True. Wouldn’t it be marvelous if you, as an old man, would stake me before you died? We would perish together. It would be the height of romance.”

Neil shook his head. “You wouldn’t do that, Delaney. You would go on after my death, continuing on as you always have.”

“How can you say that?” Delaney kissed him, urgently. “You were the first thing I saw after my death and I was the first thing you did, after yours. We are connected in so many ways.”

“I don’t have your blood anymore. It’s all gone.”

“Nonsense. You found me again, didn’t you?”

Neil examined his apple. Once it had been so fresh and wholesome, but already corruption had found a home in it, browning the edges of where he had bitten it. It was difficult not to draw parallels, but he could do it if he tried.

“Tsh. Don’t look so sad,” Delaney said. He opened up the newspaper and rustled the pages together. “Oh, that reminds me. I’ve had news that your father might be attending the next council meeting this month. Do you want to attend?”

Neil perked up. “For my revenge?” 

“Yes, Neil, for your revenge.” 

“Yes, I would quite like that.” 

*

Mrs. Amberson opened her door and smiled at her guests. “Ah, Mr. Delaney! Mr. Rivers! And you — I didn’t think I would ever see you again, Mr. Alston.” 

Neil bowed. “I was bowed but not broken, madame.”

“You seemed quite broken, as I recall,” said Mrs. Amberson, with a mischievous smile. “But all’s well that ends well, I suppose. Welcome to my home!”

Mrs. Amberson was hosting the monthly council meeting in her absurdly picturesque little cottage, the size of which prohibited the full council from attending -- which was all for the good. 

What followed was the most bizarre and tense tea party that Neil had ever had the misfortune of participating in. He was the only one present who was able to partake in finger sandwiches and tea, but it was impossible to enjoy when everyone was watching him like a hawk -- very hungry hawks. 

“You wouldn’t_ believe_ how old that butter is,” Mrs. Amberson said with obvious pride. Neil, who had taken a bite out of his sandwich, put it down again. 

“It tastes all right to me,” he said doubtfully when there was a knock on Mrs. Amberson’s cottage door. 

She sprang up, saying, “Can you believe I have to receive my own visitors? Things are simply _wild_ these days, my dears.” 

Delaney came over to where Neil was sitting as the noise from the entranceway filtered into the parlor. 

“Are you ready?” he asked quietly, looking down at Neil.

Neil nodded and reached out to pour himself more tea. Samuel stirred from his seat. “Shall I be a mother?” 

“Please don’t,” Neil said sharply as the last two members of the council came in. Mrs. Amberson came in with a flourish. “Gentlemen! Lord Ashton, Mr. Rankin.” 

Lord Ashton looked much the same as Neil had seen him last — a twinkling star in the firmament. He took in the room with some satisfaction, though his smile faded when he saw Neil.

“Good evening, Father,” Neil said, standing up. He took the top off the teapot and tossed the scalding tea into Lord Ashton’s face. Delaney and Samuel fell upon him and brought him down to the floor. They were both older vampires than he, and could keep him down with little effort. Rankin stepped aside and tutted decoriously. 

“This is most irregular. Mrs. Amberson, do you see this?” 

“The tea has ruined his nice waistcoat,” Mrs. Amberson said worriedly. 

“What are you all doing?” Lord Ashton demanded. “Let me go! Are you going to stand aside, Rankin?” 

“Father,” Neil said, gathering his courage. “I accuse you of violating council strictures-- by using banned blood magic and slaying your kin. How do you plead?” 

Lord Ashton shrugged -- or tried to. “I just took what I needed to. You weren’t using your youth as I knew I could. I had a wonderful time in the last few decades, Neil. I would thank you, but I suppose you wouldn’t accept it.” 

“We’ll have to take a vote on the matter,” Rankin said. “Capital matters usually require a full council.” 

“What’s the point of this shit if you can’t make up rules as you go along?” Samuel asked, annoyed. 

“I strongly suggest we vote,” Delaney said. He smiled with no humor whatsoever. “After all, I didn’t accept a position on the council not to take advantage of it.” 

*

They voted. 

Neil won, not, he suspected because of the truth of his accustions but because -- Delaney loved him, Samuel tolerated him, Mrs. Amberson was amused. Lord Ashton voted against his own anhilation and Rankin abstained. 

Majority ruled. 

*

Neil took out the rock he'd taken so long ago from the Ashton family graveyard and shoved it into Lord Ashton’s protesting mouth, as deep as it would go.

The room was deadly quiet. 

Lord Ashton tried to struggle in Neil’s arms, but he could not move. His eyes were wide and fearful — it seemed as though he was finally reckoning with what he had done and what would be done to him.

“What are you going to do, Neil?” Delaney asked quietly. 

“I have to — well, now I have to … behead him, I suppose. Burn his heart.” Neil felt his head start to ache. He had thought doing this would give him more clarity, but he felt as muddled as ever.

Mrs. Amberson sighed. “_Please_ don’t behead anyone in my parlor. You may use the back garden — the roses might like the ash.”

Neil, Delaney, Samuel and Rankin carried Lord Ashton into the back garden. Mrs. Amberson’s garden was still a place of dread among the people in her sedate, suburban neighborhood, but Neil felt as if there were many eyes upon him. He gripped his knife hard.

“He’s done terrible things,” he said aloud. “I am doing right.”

“My God, at least have the courage of your convictions when you’re about to murder your father,” said Samuel jeeringly. Neil ignored him and pressed the knife against Lord Ashton’s throat. 

Then, he removed the rock. Lord Ashton licked at his lips and smiled. “Neil.”

“Don’t try to convince me otherwise,” Neil muttered.

“No. I want to say I couldn’t be more proud of you. And that I don’t regret a single thing I’ve ever done.”

Neil shuddered and did what he thought he was supposed to do. His regrets were many, but he kept them to himself. 

*

They were a somber party, leaving Mrs. Amberson’s garden. The white roses seemed pleased with sacrifice and distantly, there was a sound of a fox killing a rabbit. Delaney threw a coat over Neil’s shoulder. “We’ll drive back together,” he told Samuel in an undertone. “You go back with Rankin.”

Rankin, who had been quiet through everything, put a hand on Neil’s shoulder. “You did something now that I wish I had done. But it was still truly monstrous.”

“Yes,” Neil said miserably. “I know.”

*

Driving into town, it began to rain and so they have to stop and put up the top in the cabriolet. As they resumed their drive, however, Neil turned to Delaney and said, “I’ve decided to stay human. If you try to change me against my will, I would —”

“I know what you would do,” Delaney said, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “Perhaps you’ll change your mind later. If you do, I will always be willing to help you.”

“Perhaps,” Neil said, looking out into the blurred, rain-soaked countryside. “But I’d be content with living out this life, and having no others.”

“So you say now. And what about us —?” And for the first time, Delaney sounded tentative. 

“I think we can go on further than you think,” Neil said with a small smile. He touched Delaney’s thigh for a moment and sighed.

The world was still so chaotic and filled with hostilities. Neil did not know if he would indeed be able to age and die quietly. Would he change his mind as Delaney clearly believed? He could not say with certainty that this would not happen. However, it was true that all was not quite as hopeless now as it had been at the start. The long journey had been worth it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Cage the Elephant. Biggest thanks to Sath for a beta. All mistakes and plot holes are mine. 
> 
> Y'all, can you believe this the end? I'm in shock. Never thought I'd get there, but here I am, nursing a canned wine and finishing this out with some patricide and direct democracy.


End file.
